It just irked her no end when she couldn’t pull out the name
that should have matched the face in front of her.

She had in the past been able to grab a sliver of a syllable,
a letter like an “M“ that led to Martha or Milly or
some clue that pulled out a name.
When no letter came, she’d look at the face
and went through the alphabet: a, b, c, d, e . . .
until some sound from inside came out through
her tongue: Emma?
No, not Emma.
She waited for that feeling of relief, a confirmation
that she could remember.

So, do you know my name? asked
the face looking from the mirror.

Jean Toyama