Support

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To be back in those echoing corridors,
the photographs that move, the random piano
and the closed coffee shops. I’d forgotten
the hush of evening after the visitors have left.
I can almost see my ghost waiting in a leather chair.

I consider running and never stopping.
I listen to her tell how I’ll wake in a small room
surrounded by scary machines, all tubes and drains.
The importance of sitting up, the disinfectant gel,
the bear hug blanket and the need for a fan.
Someone asks a question about death,
the crowd holds its breath. I’m not sure I can do this.

Then there’s the topless women in crowded rooms,
laughing and happy to answer questions.
She says she has three small children,
she says I can touch them if I want.
Strange how quickly the surreal becomes normal.
I open my mind to the possibility of implants.
There is the kindness of a lift home.

I am no longer alone in the hospital,
I am one of many who survive this.

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