at seventy-five,
sleeping at all
hours
bored and losing
the will to live
she looked out the
nursing-home window
as the sun set in
fake lace
an hour passed
maybe a day
her book
was taken
her watch had
stopped
she felt
growing senescence
a buttress root
of a great tree
in boggy ground
there was a flurry
of cold chatter
no, it was rising
her mother had lived
past her century
the young one was
speaking
ringlets and vocal
fry
the doctor’s
opinion
had been revised
she was going home.
A very fine poem, Robbie, and a different thing altogether -- nonetheless yours reminded me of this thing of mine.
ReplyDeleteA Very Sharp Fragment
The most beautiful woman in the world
present today at the moment of this poem
is safe in a psychiatric unit maybe in Indiana
and somewhere a very sharp fragment got
stuck in the mind she got on the wrong track
years ago she conceived an idea that all of love
was poisoned and all of gaze was murderous
we are born to die and we must suffer the years
medications come and go like nervous visitors
she screams whenever someone looks at her
she reads then doodles to pass the next 30 years
calm down it’s alright you’ll never meet her.
More beautiful phrases Robert 'sun set in fake lace' 'ringlets and vocal fry' Also think the buttress root great tree boggy section is a rich effective image in the middle there - great shift
ReplyDeleteThanks Rob, Lizz.:)
ReplyDeleteYour poem is powerful and heart-rending, Rob — have a close friend who has mental problems, not an easy thing to deal with.
lovely. xm
ReplyDeletethanks Mikaela
DeleteThank you, Robbie (or are you Robert, as Lizz called you above?) to feel all that, and to be powerless and unheard; makes me sad and angry. Weren't all mental illnesses called dementias, at one time??
ReplyDeleteYes, nothing is worse than institutionalisation.
ReplyDeleteAs to my name, I really don't mind Robbie or Robert, I have an account with Blogspot under the name of Robbie Verdon (which I was called as a child too) but I guess most people call me Robert (except my mother and sister who call me 'Rob', which I don't really like), then there are those who call me Roberta but that's another story …
Ha. In my life I've known some most excellent people called Robert, Robbie or Rob. The last 2 names I share with you...although not Robert. (My younger sisters tend to call me Robbie when they are under stress.) My Rob (preferred) comes from Robbins, an old family name, my middle name. :)
Delete:) Robert is my middle name; my first is David but I never use it. (My cousin David and I were living in the same house when I was very small, it got confusing.)
Delete