An Unfamiliar Hand

‘And how are we today?’

another stranger asks.

I finger the worn edge of my nightie,

cream lace over floral cotton.

I have long ago stopped answering.

My other hand lies limp 

over regulation sheets,

it doesn’t belong to me

this old woman’s hand,

pale and purple veined,

but I recognise the ring.

‘Mrs Walters?’ the girl prompts.

An eager one today. ‘Mrs Walters?’

I don’t respond, that isn’t me.

I am Emily Francis,

a woman younger than her,

with long long black hair.

I am in love with….with…

He gave me this ring,

see it’s on my finger.

The unfamiliar hand won’t move,

that is because it isn’t mine,

an old woman has stolen my ring.

‘Someone is here to see you.’

A man sits down, 

picks up the hand and holds it.

I look into his eyes, try to smile.

‘Howard?’ My voice is odd,

like a drunk person.

‘Gran, it’s me Adam.’

‘Oh Howard, I love the ring. 

Can we go home now?’

My words are blurred, so are my eyes.

Howard strokes the hand and asks,

‘And how are we today?’