Bingo

 

I find her in back, mid-game

around the table, playing

two cards at once.

 

O-9, N-17, G-46…

Mini packets of Cracker Jack

are today’s prize. She has won

 

three already. Her sweet tooth, suppressed

for decades now thrives on jellybeans

and ice cream. She doesn’t remember

 

it’s junk we don’t eat in this house.

As cards are called…B-29. I-43. N-17…

she full-on concentrates. Not long ago

 

when invited to play she had sneered

for losers. It was awful

when, between reading the Times

 

completing the Sunday crossword

and discussing politics she could still track

her memory loss, could still reflect

 

on her own mind. Now, like the child

she never allowed herself to be, she thrills

over a complete row of plastic coins.

 

It should break my heart. But

it’s so much easier to love her

this way.