Memorial Day
       

Arriving at this point
without knowledge of the journey,

the slow collapse and internal
dampening—the shutting down, the closing in—lost

in the shadowed veil, my eyes flutter open to find
everything in its place, yet

altered, as if viewed from a single step
closer at a different height, offering a disturbing

clarity. Looking up, I wonder that she wakes me
from a dream of dogs on this, of all days,

only to detect under me linoleum in place of the bed,
my glasses skewed from the impact,

the floor and left side of my head wet. You looked
like you were reaching for something, she says,

and perhaps I was, though with hand outstretched
I found nothing to hold but the darkness.

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Copyright © 2022 Robert Okaji All rights reserved
from Buddha's Not Talking
Slipstream Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission