Return

I thought there were angels!
Every polished tile floor, numbered,
Held more, patient there, watching
Over me, who had been far gone,
Someone, I think I knew, called me,
“Come back; there’s no time to leave,
Yet,” I was sent unwilling, not of my
Volition. Pain, it was all too much,
Nothing was left I wanted – touch.
Reality was a terror-filled dream,
Oh, so, awful – rigid deadly thing.

Waking, on pristine white sheets,
Hooked-up, white walls even in
The reflection of a light slice bounced,
Through the half-open windowed door,
Pulling loose, crumply legs – shaken,
Securing myself, balanced over feet.
Thousands, whispers, voices
In the air, surrounding everywhere,
Steps slow to the door, an angel
There waiting, noticing me, “Do you
Hear something?” Tones, soft, deep.
My eyes searching, not seeing as I turn,
This, that way, some trick, the sound,
“Yes, I hear speaking, yelling, but they
Are not here, present, anywhere.”
The angel with a half-smile, “It’s okay,
You’ve come back. You’ll be safe.
Settle, stay.” I thought, ‘Not an angel
After all, cause my life, more often,
Disaster loves than ordinary days.’

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I tried to write about waking up in the hospital after days; they say I nearly died or could have stayed comatose. Instead, I got a chorus, and I have learned to live somehow in and out of time.