PETALS DROPPING by Chrissie Morris Brady
A shaft of light, torch-like, lights the room
this room, off a corridor, in the huge building.
Alone, save the silent nurse who sleeps, I long
to be home, to be kissed, to take in the scent
of Dad’s neck as he carries me.
My body does not respond no matter my effort
lifeless as a flower cut with petals dropping,
my limbs inert, akinetic, mute my voice, this done to me
without my knowing, and yet I sense each touch
every invasive thing. I am destroyed, a mind encased
inside a tomb that is my flesh, bone and blood.
My thoughts drift back to familiar worlds
of being chosen, the boy sweet on me, golden hair
they shaved away, the branch in that tree smoothed
by our jeans, I could not know it would be you
that died in my arms, and my Dad would die there too.
Published in Other Worlds in The Haar