Paper rustles and I shift,
Patient, waiting here alone.
If I turn my head enough
I can see the next white room.
Screams of terror, fear, and pain
Mother’s reassurances
Thin, sharp needle, caught, then free
Band-aids and a goodbye kiss.
Goosebumps grow along my arms
Door creaks, and she’s far too near—
Tossing small talk in the air,
Colorful confetti words,
Frantic to distract myself
Yet I offer up my flesh
Smiling, like a blinded lamb,
Basest instincts tranquilized
Docile, I remain composed
Body soft, her needle poised
Metal penetrates my skin
Carves a hole into my arm,
Controlled trauma—it’s my fault
I’m grown up; I can’t react—
Child, at least you possess
The presence of mind to scream.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
i thought this elizabeth bishop poem might be salient. it's one of my favorites.
http://chawedrosin.wordpress.com/2009/03/09/in-the-waiting-room-by-elizabeth-bishop/
Thanks, Becca! I like that poem!
Post a Comment