The Missing Years

I went to sleep at twenty-five,
At the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve,
I woke up at thirty-eight,
Wondering who was sleeping next to me.

Thirteen years are missing from my life,
Thirteen years of joy and sadness gone,
Like the early morning desert mist,
That Disappears with the rising sun.

There is a man who says he is my husband,
A twelve year old who claims she is my daughter,
I look at my reflection in the mirror,
And the woman looking back is my mother.

The only clue I have is a journal,
I found hidden in the nightstand by my bed,
The first entry, January 2001, reads:
"Today I wish that I were married or dead."

Why would I want to be either one?
I loved being single and living alone,
I liked the bar scene in Las Vegas,
And I enjoyed playing the metallophone.

The other entries were just confusing,
Nonsensical poems about a man called Joe,
Who dealt black jack in a casino,
And courted me with diamonds and merlot.

The only explanation I can find,
Is that I got drunk, passed out, and hit my head,
Because there is no other reason,
That a happy single woman would wed.

For thirteen years I have experienced amnesia,
I forgot who I really am,
Now the only thing I have left to do,
Is get myself out of this jam.