Thursday, June 12, 2003
Two "medical" poems I wrote last Saturday. The opening line is taken from a real report, but the rest of the poem is not based on any one patient - but those who have worked in rural communities may find it a familiar scenario. The second poem is a real patient of mine, though the name has of course been changed.
Accident
“her life was a train crash in slow motion”
this is what they said of you
when they finally found you hanging
but did they stretch out their hands
to stop the locomotion
or did you simply not see
their eyes screaming, stop!
as you plunged
Through the angry words of your childhood
you grew a hard shell around your innocence
so when the blows came
they did not find that deepest part of you
yet there was no safe hiding place
the beds and houses constantly changed
They were wrong when they said
you drank to oblivion
it was not for solace, but for survival
glue was a cheap way out
you figured your brain was already stuffed
and from there, a short step
to weed, the only way to decent dreams.
When your belly swelled
at fifteen, it was no surprise
others had done it too
Your child your double
eyes fenced by dark lashes
tiny hands clutching at shadows
as they stole her from you
You ran from rehab
the rope was thrown too late
blinded now, you hurtled
to where fate lay waiting
holding open the door
to your childhood dreams
BH 7/6/03
Piokiwi 3:01 pm
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