He sits up in the bed child-like
grinning at all who pass.
His fingers fuss,
.We make small talk,
I am his sister, I am his daughter,
I am someone he does not know.
He lights an imaginary cigarette.
Now I know why the fingers were fussing.
It is not until it does not touch his lips
that he realises.‘Silly me,” he says.
As if all he has done was to forget to light it.
The next time - he is asleep, pinned in by crisps white sheets and bound by hospital corners.
‘He keeps getting up,’ the nurse says,
as if he were a naughty child.“
I can hear you,” his eyes remain closed.
He makes me smile
.I am his sister, I am his daughter,
I am someone he does not know.
Komentarze