a tangle of memory

when her son visits,
she envelops him
in a cloud of peppermint
and medication and calls him
the names of other people
she loves--

his own name is lost
in the muddle of absence
that empties her mind,
lost together with Czerny's
sonatas and this morning's
breakfast, as she calls him her
husband's name and reminds him
of their first apartment with
the smell of fresh bread
and rattle of the train
passing behind every night at
11:57. she has lost the shape
of her home of sixty years.

but he is always welcome
(although his name varies)
and she hugs him
and reminds him of times
he never knew and events
he never shared, and she
wonders aloud if he's changed
the baby, her precious son
written in baby powder and
mud pies so deep inside her heart that
she will never forget his face.

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