Hard of Hearing

Curled in your lap, Clara

purrs—engine

and primum mobile,

a cue for contentment

in the confines of the moment.

And because there’s more

than one way

to heaven . . . and perhaps

because Alzheimer’s

has a purr in it,

mesmerized, I murmur

more to the fire

than to myself,

“Maybe we’re entering

nirvana. . . . ”

Puzzled you look over

and reply,

“Entering lasagna?”