A Poma about a Coma

Blink
(for Janek Grzebski who woke up from his coma after 19 years)

What world of choice now.
Gone the walls, the drab komunista goods,
more surprising than to wake up
in your father’s body.

This is not the sun you remember.
You say it has swelled
not like a blind bomb,
but a nearer eye, God sneaking close.

You tell us:
“the world is prettier now”
We can’t swallow that
but you point out where colors weren’t.

6,957 times,
the world spun around your sleep.
Tonight you’ll struggle against your eyes
convinced this is some Brigadoon day.

You feel you are less of a miracle
than your wife’s silent diligence,
moving your wax body every hour.
Two decades of just in case.

Still, you hear the ocean call
to return. The dope of your hibernation
in the marrows and corners of your body.
Light glares away the dark.

You wonder if Lazarus ever regretted,
stole away from the revelers, down to the tomb
to breathe in his graveclothes,
close his eyes, try to go back.