Next to the Community Garden

on Fremont Street in Battle Creek, old men hunch on an old porch of a spacious old house, nursing coffee, smoking, squinting into the early mist, abiding each other’s presence because the presence of another, even silent, helps us be human. The sun drops a fat ray into the front yard.

One of the men says, “Hmm,” spits into the lawn. They all know the worlds that contains.

Smell of burnt toast and bacon through screens.

The men rise slowly and file in, holding the door for each other. Old friend, I wish you were there.

— Elizabeth Kerlikowske

Kerlikowske has lived in Kalamazoo for 45 years, the same amount of time she has known the friend referred to in the poem. Due to dementia, he has drifted further during the past three years than she ever would have imagined.