I’ve become a collector of hospital wrist bands

Neither paper nor fabric

I wear them till they are time worn silky and threatening to fall away

In tenacious threads

The lettering burnished I carry

Them forever holding together my memories of five buck bags of vending machine candy

Sleep walking along bright lines on linoleum

From parking D to hallway A past

Exhausted art and neglected foliage past

Windows of life going on without me

These mementos of waiting rooms

Subliminally hard plastic chairs on carpet tiles

Reeking of bleach and sorrow

Yes you can have this chair

Echoing of empty cafeterias

Ghost city charging stations

That time I had really good coffee

And mediocre mounds of turkey sandwiches in hygienic clamshell coffins

My hospital souvenirs whispered like dead leaves from my folded hands reminding me

I’ve never left thin blanketed bedsides where tvs have no sound

But every room is an ocean of beeping and waves of first name last name date of birth

Can you just tell me your

Lap at my shore