Hospital Daze

Cyclically | Simone Kulinski | Painting

Hospital Daze by Eleni Kontos

Right now is one of those times, 

When a memory hits you over the head like a sack of sloshing sand 

Impromptu, yes, but loud and present also 

It is impossible to know -- what is real and what is not 

If the smell is there or if it isn't, if the sky was grey or blue.

I cannot tell you if it was raining. But if it was, 

I could say the raindrops and their pitter-patter were just like his heartbeat. 

That when I took a deep breath if not for a taste of the mulchy air on my tongue; I watched to make sure he did the same.

And I think, I think it was night 

And the maddening stench of hospital air was so used to my body it called itself home there

The halls, long and flickering 

Fluorescence sending a beating pain up the small of my back 

The halls, they seemed to last forever 

And I remember, 

Leaving the tubes and the curtains and sickly smell behind;

Wiping my brain clean so I couldn't hear his voice, 

The way he wheezed and hissed at the pain 

How close he was -- and still I could not touch him 

The sanitizer sat sturdy on the wall, 

Calling for my tainted limbs

And the strange scratchy floors of the cafeteria 

Sand paper traction on my toes

And the sad lost eyes roaming past and through but not to me; 

And suddenly, a cookie. 

In a small and, arguably, stinky place. 

B-something, the name I will never know for sure 

But I ate it; whole and soft 

Shattered and sticking to the roof of my mouth. 

Turning to paste in my throat and lingering

With who I don't remember

I could smile and listen, lie through my teeth the way a lizard lies burrowed beneath the earth

so calmly.

I could tell you I loved the cookie, the coarseness in my mouth 

But the truth is, I don't remember how it tastes. 

If it was chocolate or raisin 

Instead I remember the sweat it left on my fingers 

The marks on my jeans and the crumbs in my hair 

I remember telling my mother I loved it. 

I remember asking for more 

And being like him in more ways than I care to admit

I keep finding these small fragments of a clue, and they make it seem like the whole picture is near. 

Like soon, I will flip over the box and find the finished puzzle staring back at me; eyes full of answers.

I find a way to see and then it's gone. 

It is a memory, I know this much is true.

But what makes me ache 

Is I can't recall if I was looking for it when it was.