Tuesday, March 14
A PSYCH WARD IS A PLACE
It has a lobby, a large Christmas tree. Someone picked
the lounge furniture, its warm southwestern pattern.
Past the double doors, everyone has a bed,
fifteen uninterrupted minutes of privacy, a shower
to scream in. No one screams outside of a place.
Tile isn’t selfish with the sound it catches.
Someone with fingers and thumbs glued it down.
On their first night, a Patient is handed
a large turkey and cheddar sandwich. The Nurse,
a man in scrubs and copper cuffs, asks
the Patient many questions, types their answers
into a monitor. The Patient takes their first hungry bite
in six days. When their mouth fills with varied textures,
they relax into grief. Many people hammered up beams
so that when a Patient weeps they weep in a room.
The Nurse comforts them, says it’s always like this
the first night. The Patient hears howling
from a bathroom. Joins it.
(K. Iver)