Blessed Alzheimer's

He sits on his bed,
knuckles twisted like concord trunks
fumble with shirt buttons,
“Where are we going?” he asks,
for the fourth or fifth time.

“To the cemetery,”
slips past the swell
in my throat.

“Oh? Who died?”

I have to tell him again,
“It was Jessie, Grandpa.”

His mouth opens
silent grief
his eyes dip 
“Is the funeral today?”

This conversation replays
all the way there.

Full moon shows through
the blue and white painted sky.
Lavender and yellow daisies
cover the casket 
of the second wife
he has outlived. 

Faces of family and friends
are all new to him.
Each condolence becomes
a fresh fracture to
blessed Alzheimer’s.

He sits, eyes in the past
as Beloved Wife is eulogized.
Present slips in
when her name is said
and a new mourning period begins.

How many more times today 
will his heart be broken? 
When he asks tomorrow
can I just say Jessie is still in the hospital
and let him live in the bliss of dementia?  

He’s borne many palls
walked with grief
squared off with death
more than once. 

When he joins the chorus
of Amazing Grace
he moves us all to tears
though he has forgotten 
who he is singing for.