The gleaming pebbleof my sparkly daysRubs itself raw,and ruinousHere, on the Stroke UnitI am just another Caseof Girl, InterruptedI have lost my facealong the waterwaysof little deathsand unbearable truths.I have lost my placeLost the fluidity of my grace.
This is the last of the sad little trio, but it has become special, because the morning after my bleak night, a very handsome, dashing young doctor read my poem and declared it worthy of praise. Suddenly the veils were cast aside and the sun streamed in. I peeked behind the blue curtain on my right, past troubled Margaret, and realised there was a garden there. Right outside. It had been there all the time. And I was just too gloomy to know.
Don't you love this marble head from Constantin Brancusi? It is spooky in its stillness and yet breathing, and alive, warm and cool all at the same time.