A common occurrence in Eastern Kentucky
occurs when a person falls asleep in their car.
An onlooker passes by, like they did this morning,
noticing the leopard-print jacket is slumped against the seat,
the trim hair and necklace tipped at odd angles to the passerby,
a hundred thoughts blooming in an instant:
“Is that a woman?”
“Is she alright?”
“Is she alive?”
“Is that a dead body or someone just sleeping?”
Even the frantic jolt 
as she returned to life,
was a motion I had seen enacted
a hundred times a hundred times
by myself and many others.
Her fastidious resurrection
on my way into the building
forced me to ask myself,
“Am I living or just passing by?”