Marla is alive,
stretchered into an ambulance
by paramedics
who assume I’m her granddaughter.
You can sit there, they say,
and I am by her side.
A plastic mask obscures her face;
the blanket is up to her chin.
Her eyes are on me.
Toffee.
I missed you.
Where have you been?
I needed someone to talk to about Mary.
You’re the only one who would’ve understood.
Did you ever get over little Oliver?
Will I be OK ever again?
You fell.
You’ll be fine.
Oh, yes. I did.
But see …
I have been falling for a long time.