They say, put him in memory care.
You need to, they say, it’s too hard.
You have no freedom. We see your misery.
Someone recommends a place.
Her friend’s sister is a resident there.
I make an appointment for a tour.
A long driveway, wide trim lawn, a pond.
a ten-gallon fish tank burbles in the lobby.
The walls need paint.
Brown streaks the bathroom door.
A peek into a private room:
all roses and chintz and lace curtains.
An Asian man sits alone in the dining room,
behind a transparent plastic screen.
His expression is blank, distant.
Two men slump in the TV room.
Two women play Scrabble.
A walnut-faced Italian woman in a wheelchair,
fingers like roots, complains,
I didn’t have my breakfast!
A bit of egg sticks to her pants.
She says, I wish I were dead.
Where do I go now?
The walls leak loneliness.
They are all waiting.
Will someone who loves me come?
Does anyone know me now?
Who remembers my story?
Will tomorrow be the same as today?