my daughter bought me one
of those extensions for my cellphone--to take selfies
so I wouldn't forget who I was--as if looking at a "me"
in the face of my phone would remind me
I am John Smith, I am 73

and I had been an engineer
at a missile range for a 45 years and two months
that I had lost a finger in Vietnam and my wife
died in a automobile accident three years ago
and her name was Emma

but my daughter says I never,
not once called her mother anything
but "M" and now, whenever I read,
hear, say or write the letter M
I get a lump in my throat

my daughter has notes taped
on every surface of my house, reminding
me to eat, and take my meds--she placed
a big one on the door: DON'T GO OUTSIDE
but I wouldn't anyway

I like it here, where I think
I have been a long time, and it is filled
with things my daughter calls memories
and photos of a lady I don't recognize
with a sticky note on each one

the notes are all yellow and have
an "M" on them; I get that lump in my throat
when I see them, and sometimes water comes
from my eyes, though I don't know why
because Emma didn't look like that