An ancient farmer
Perches in the kitchen window
Watching November gallop.
His wife's dementia is in the living room.
He was harvesting
When she thought her husband,
The farmer, was her dead brother.
Now she has forgotten
How to drink tea from a cup.
Heavy in air,
His wife remembered his birthday.
Her mind was only tired back then.
His crops were fibrous and green.
It was a profitable year.
The farmer had money for doctors,
It wasn't that.
There are some things that just happen out of order.
Her mind, a rotting jack-o-lantern left
On the front porch in late November,
White fuzz outlined her eyes.
But her body would remain,
Reminding him of what he once had.
There was a presence of wind.
The farmer will make a sandwich.
And feed it to her,
She will yell
In her insanity. He will say,
“You like this, remember?”
But she doesn't
and never will.
Awake in bed
The persistent leaf
Will lie down onto the cold Earth.