Pieces of His Story

The first time it happened

He was only confused,

Confused about being

So inexplicably

And perfectly confused.

He stood in the market

Parking lot with his cart,

Knowing his groceries

Were paid for, forgetting

How he had reached that spot.

At the bank he forgot

His ATM password.

Driving home, the main roads

Seemed normal, familiar,

But in his neighborhood

He couldn’t remember

His exact street, its name,

Or his address number.

He drove around until

He recognized his house.

He knew he was missing

Pieces of his story,

Like a book with missing

Pages he hadn’t known

Had fallen out until

That puzzlement about

How everything just jumped.

It lingered. The next day,

He still couldn’t recall

The date—not month or year—

And he mistook pine cones

On the lawn for berries,

As he said to his wife—

Where did all those berries

Come from? And she replied,

What berries? And he knew

He had made a mistake,

Although they still looked like

Berries to him, a while.

He was fine years and years

After that. Time to time,

Nonetheless, it came back.