Who is that, looking at me?
Sure, something familiar –
is she family?
I can’t move, Why? Hey, lips move!
But they won’t, forgotten how.
Not my bed; too high, too small.
I don’t remember her at all.
Look at these hands!
Swollen knuckles – paper skin;
Whose is this body, I am in?
Television over there;
Magnolia walls, pretty bare.
Am I sick? Does
it matter? I think it might.
Sick of that fluorescent light.
What is she holding? Tiny
thing: keeps talking at it;
very sci fi.
Funny clothes come to think.
Wilting flowers in the sink.
She does look like Marta though.
Footnote: A Polish man woke up from a 20 year coma two days ago.
