She said he came in with amnesia,
that they didn’t know his name.
For weeks the only word he spoke was ‘Adeline’,
they assumed it was her necklace held in his bloodied hand.
Grandmother called him David (too many John Doe’s
and you begin to give them other names)
She sat with him in the sun, reading him poetry
from the only book she could afford.
When I asked her more about him,
she drifted back, back into her daylight dreaming.
She no longer remembered him,
she no longer remembered me.
We are often left alone-
with mementos the rest of the world has forgotten.
Holding meaning only to our subconscious,
and to the inner worlds found in our hearts.
