Scott Wordsman

Misremembered

My grandfather attends a daycare for seniors.
“Dementia Camp,” my mom says, though she
too will attend this camp, and I’ll be the one to
pack her bags. Irreverence is sorrow in a see-thru
parka. Nurse Luna rallies the campers. I met her
once. She said my grandfather’s sharp as a dart–
his M.D. comes loose in Trivial Pursuit. When I
hold my grandfather’s hand, I feel I am holding
both air and flesh, a cigarette and its inevitable
ash. I have a secret for you: degeneration is a
spectator sport, and the ghosts own everything.