A mask looms over me and covers my face.
"Count backwards from 100."
My mouth feels like cotton--
My tongue weighs a ton.
I am falling backwards into an orange fuzz.
Pink and yellow squiggles bounce around me.
A blue one whispers to me,
"Give her more. She's waking up."

When I finally open my eyes,
I ask for it.
I see it in my mind's eye:
Brown, fuzzy
But I want to see the other side--
I imagine that it looks like the back of an eyelid.

I want to hold it and pet it and love it forever-- warm velvet and slime all in one piece of skin--
A most precious part of me that they have removed

It was unsightly
It might have caused cancer
I will never get it back

When I miss it, I touch my scar and am thankful for it.

They can't take me away completely.
Something still remains.