It was as if my elbow was lifted and placed on my chest
I trust you
You know the best
White, everything is washed white…
I am in a corridor
There is a chute
Someone’s hand is on my hand
And it is hairy.
And so, I assume, you are a man doctor
In 1969, the last year of my life
Could it all have ended with a hairy hand?
I thought I give it a try…
On the computer screen, Dr Weiss was talking
Slow, measured sentences, no rush
He said I should relax:
‘Imagine a door’
I pictured a door but it was already open
there was no bright light, just a shaft.
The kids were still stirring in their beds
My daughter listened to a sleep app
With light rain that was thick but gentle
And in her room, a lightning struck into a summer storm
Even though it was a deep November.
The hypnotist said I should relax again
As if he knew my mind was wondering
As if he was there, in my bedroom:
‘Don’t worry about what comes up’ he said
And I saw a white coat and a hand and it was hairy.