I ask him if he can place me
“I’ve not done any wrong;
why should I be visited by memories?”
He says lifting his eyes from his
king’s game featuring one solitary
piece on the checkered board.
The windows are broad.
The nurses look bored.
His body blocks the light,
and the garden framed by the pane.
I shake my head. He disremembers all,
and I embrace a vague fancy that
I have been here before
in the days to come.
Picture Nick Victor