Glass is a Supercooled Liquid

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Sun, 20 Dec 2015
  • 2165 reads
12 comments
 
I wasn’t leaving her alone – not  in that place
any more than I had to, but died and died again
when they ushered me in; 
 
my mother – stripped naked, mirrored in a washroom door.
 
Stood by as they made her take a bath; she – Lily by name 
and nature, they – who would douse her in disinfectant
as a cow off to the slaughterhouse.
 
'Just doing our jobs – the way it has to be,
in here.  You should see some of ‘em we get...
crawling with lice. If you don’t like it, love, wait outside...'
 
where my dad was. I prayed he couldn’t hear her screams
from lips – once kissed a sore knee better, 
spewing profanities in a vain attempt to salvage 
the tatters of her dignity. 
 
With scissors from her bag, tell them I’d trim her nails;
Dad had done his best for ten years, but swimming upstream.
 
'It’s just me, mum.  No need to be afraid.'
 
How stupid was that? I might have been Lucifer himself
for all she knew, as she grabbed my wrist – pinned me down 
with eyes; wild as the ocean, big as alone.  
 
My mother...sectioned; papers, duly signed.  
The early eighties; Alzheimer’s, only recently recognised, 
commonly considered – a fancy word for going mad.
 
She was only late fifties...too young to class it as senility
so... a lunatic asylum the obvious remedy.
 
Confiscated – scissors, engraved with her name,
sterling silver compact, all she had – her wedding ring –
locked up, like her; the key...thrown away.
 
“No such stuff permitted here...in case they hurt themselves, 
you see?” Oh, I did, but did they...the powers that be?
 
Two weeks later she died...a pulmonary embolism 
as a result of a massive bruise on her thigh.  
‘Walked into a window, poor lamb’, they said,
 but then again...
 
In Case of Emergency, 
Break Glass...
 
 
Certificate 15
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by celticman on

in case they hurt themselves, you see, I see clearly, but what can you do when there's only me and you? 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

In a nutshell, celtic...

 

Submitted by VeraClark on

Twisted up in my guts. Superbly written.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Vera.  Nothing speaks louder than impassionment.

 

Submitted by munchkinkittie on

beautiful language and dark, the imagery was.... astounding... this is exactly the content i've been searching to read! i will be checking out your other stuff, thank you!

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hey, thanks, MK...love the name, by the way.

Tina

 

Submitted by Bee on

Stirs up anger to read. Sad and so well written. 

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

...and certainly stirs up anger to write, dear Bee.  Thanks so much for reading, and appreciating.

Tina

 

Submitted by catherine poarch on

In the past I worked in a couple of places that this reminded me of, in the way the staff talked in your poem. Makes your skin crawl worse than lice! So well written, as usual. Brilliant finish.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, catherine.  The establishment in question...Tooting Bec Asylum.  Now demolished.  Nuff said.

Tina

 

Submitted by Starfish Girl on

Just hope that all such treatment is in the past, but I'm sure it isn't completely. The person forgotten and only the results of the illness acknowledged.

So well written.

Lindy

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks for reading, Lindy.  Yes, it would be nice to think that treatment such as that would never occur in present times, but as you say, maybe that's living in a dreamworld, sadly.

Tina