Think of it this Way

by John Glenday

You find yourself awake, in a bed
that is not your own, in a room you do not recognise,
in a city where you are a stranger

and there beside you, the daughter who never lived.
While you aged, she continued to grow,
though the dead cannot grow,

they can only grow closer.
Her name, if she ever had one, would be your name.
All those years without sleep.

Remember how she settled in you once,
heavy as a wayside stone. For as long as you live
she will draw in your breath,

cancel out your warmth,
compound every silence; in that bed,
in that room, in that city you have never visited.