An ad in the LA Times
Pictured a jewelry store in Beverly Hills
Somewhere off Wilshire
A golden band modeled after an Egyptian original
Mother wanted it and so we went
We sat on tuffets of crushed velvet and
She bought it
replacing her wedding band
Which I never did find.
It was pretty but
what other significance this meant
regarding her husband she did not tell

She was struck walking on an off-ramp
on the 10.
Heading east?
How did she get there?
I asked her in the hospital
On the gurney she shook her head
And said she didn’t know.
That’s Alzheimer’s for you.
The ring is gone.

Father took his off well before she passed
and left it on the top of his dresser.

Days like this, clouds twist
round languid trysts and linger
through each billow -
how a breath of smoke forms shadows
or a swarm of midges gather -
growing tangible as tuffets
of pubescent body hair.

If I had studied clouds
and all their undercurrent slip
streams, then my memories
might emulate
their dissipating shrouds.