if you could repeat something to your grandma so she'd remember it.
so it'd resist the caterpillars in the garden of her memory you'd say body
is laughter and laughter is the body.
like pink night clouds on gluey sky.
or you'd tell her
where the walnuts fell
there'll be walnuts again
that turn into hedgehogs at night.
like alzheimer is the opposite of dreaming.
your grandma would say the world is bonkers
and that it's raving. when she was just in fear
of her view describing herself.
things were too big to conceptualise.
you see the ocean in the arrangement of chairs
that will be bunches of features and sounds.
the oceanic chatter of ppl.
all ppl are post-language and the awareness
of the habitability of situations
except for your grandma
living in her own peripheral.
your grandma sits alone in front of the tv
touching her face
because it'll never be morning
or evening again.
she goes to bed and closes her eyes for a second
and when she opens them
she doesn't know if she slept.
she won't even be able to die. nobody will.