I hear the trees whisper of dark places,
cold, wet sheets, halls damp with neglect.
Bees sip nectar, buzz of straps, gags, "the blitz".
Sunlight hints of blinding lights, screams,
backs straining, convulsing.
Nurse hears me hum "Tonight We Love".
Asks "Do you imagine a sensual touch?"
Like the river nearby, my mind rushes.
I don't remember yesterday, only this garden.
Nurse pats my hand, opens devotional,
"You're settled today, dear", pulls sleeve
over my red wrists.
Tells me "Don't think, don't frown".
Time continues to slip…
becomes moonbeams, stars, the feel of lips,
the night we loved… I stop humming.
Nurse turns, squints, makes eye contact.
I startle. She yells for help.
The trees and bees no longer whisper,
no longer buzz, as the halls echo
"Don't erase me!"
Wonder when my suitcase will bump
up attic stairs, body used for science,
what number my grave will bear?
by Margaret Bednar, April 25, 2014
This is for Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Artistic Interpretations - Willard Asylum. Located in New York, this asylum opened in 1869, closed 1995. Jon Crispin is photographing a project (funded through Kickstarter) called "Willard Suitcases". Lisa Gordon, a fabulous photographer toured the closed facility. Her photos are not "feel good" photos. Click HERE. For more insight and links, click on the Garden's link at the beginning of this paragraph.
The video below is a recording of an album found in one of the suitcases photographed by Jon Crispin.
For the month of April, I am participating in NaPoWriMo2014 or National Poetry Writing Month. The website is HERE.
In celebration of this year's challenge, I will be giving away a free book of my poetry. If you are interested in participating in this drawing, please click the red logo at the top of my side bar and leave your name and a means to reach (blog, email, etc) you in the comment section.
PLEASE INDICATE YOU WANT TO PARTICIPATE IN THE DRAWING OR I WILL ASSUME YOU ARE JUST COMMENTING. THANKS.