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Petals Dropping

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

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by madswirl.com and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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