LETTER TO A STRANGER.
Dear Familiar Stranger,
For so you are.
I cannot see your face, or ask your name,
but I know your touch very well.
Light, firm, and impersonal.
Cool liquid. Smooth and faintly scented.
Massage; Routine; Always the same;
left foot, left leg, right foot, right leg.
I was a dancer, you know, before …
Did they tell you or can you tell?
Can you feel it in the muscles you sustain?
I was a dancer, and I was good, oh, so good.
I wish you could have seen me then.
Left hand, left arm, right hand, right arm.
Arms that once held my lovers, and my
children. Lifeless now.
Where are my children? Do they still come?
I cannot tell for sure unless they speak.
People come, and sit, and look, and go.
I wish that you would speak,
I would love to hear your voice again.
Do you not realize that I can still hear?
I know you are soon to marry,
you told a nurse, yesterday, and your
voice was soft, warm with love.
I wish you every joy, I wish that you
may love and be loved all your life.
Ah, I can smell starch and masculinity,
the doctor must be here again.
Are his scrubs blue, or green
as in ‘Casualty’ or ‘’Holby City’?
Something else I will never see again,
Television. Not a great loss
but the radio, now, I do miss that.
No-one thinks to put headphones on me,
I am not supposed to be here.
Nothing hurts, or hungers, or moves.
Graphs, green and glowing, monitor
a discarded empty shell,
but, yes, I can still hear; and just
now I wish that I could not.
Click - off, click - off, click …
flatline whines into nothingness.
So, today is the day.
Goodbye then, dear stranger,
thank you for your care.
Remember me.
Copyright 2014.
