Day 16 – Hospital

This was a green room

But it boiled like red

With spilt blood

Those multitudinous pinpricks

We use to practice our arts

That endless folding and unfolding

Of white like chrysanthemums

I sat in the middle

Slowness in a bubble, surrounded by speed

Circled in steel, I could not run

Even if I had somewhere to go

Even if I had someone to run back to

In fact they never pricked my skin with icicles

In fact they never let me change my clothes

Although someone did wipe up the blood and give me

What we would call a band-aid for a wound

The appliance-tight steel pressed in on my wrists

Or I pressed out against it, I am not sure

Surety was a rare commodity

In that green room

With its strong lights

And strong words

And no anaesthetic

For this type of pain


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