puzzle rooms

my brother cut pieces to fit
in the tooth gaps of the puzzle. 
it was a picture of a beach i think
or else maybe a pile of flowers.
my last memory of my grandmother
is milky green. the nursing home
on the other side of town with
too many windows. everything smelled
like soup & toilet paper. we sat with her
in a "family room" & did puzzles.
her whiskers grew like a catfish. 
she never said much. coughed into
a clothe napkin while my mom
tried to talk to her. the day before
someone had escaped the unit. 
he was wandering in the parking lot
pulling on car door handles, hoping to find
his way out. my grandmother never escaped.
i wonder if she tried. if she ever walked 
the parameter of the floor, searching
for a seam to pull. puzzles inside puzzles. 
on the way out of the memory unit
there was an abstract painting 
with the four-digit exit code
hidden inside the swirling shapes. 
we culled the numbers each time.
a six. a two. a five. a seven. opened the door.
she never tried to follow us. what did
she think the door was to? was for?
we all live in worlds of portals. 
some of the more lucid residents
would ask to follow us out. i always
wanted to say yes. "yes, come with us,
we can be wild puzzle solvers. you can
drive us as far as the car will take us."
i do not know if the puzzles in the family room
were really missing pieces or if it was
just an easier task to make new pieces
than to actually sort them. my brother worked
in cardboard. took scissors carefully
to the edges. pressed the sky into place.
the other side of the puzzle, still fragmented.
i like to think no one finished it
& one day found two of the exact same pieces.