Music from the Womb

Locked in the room of confinement
This white has been bleached
Flakes of dandruff peal off their walls
A small hand chipping away at the ceiling
Narrow holes where the snakes used to live
Whose tiny shell hearts are left exposed to me
The windows are not there
Outside red maples bathe in the sun of blue
No windows, not here
but all I have to do is
look at my bed
The blanket, designed with the sun, moons and stars,
is my window
into space
it might be the sea
that my blanket stole
or was it the last shooting star
that fell into ice land for the first time

At night, my head rests upon a mossy stone
purple pansies grow around my face
Surrounding me like petals of a daisy
Each flower is that petal
ready to blow away and wilt on the cold ground
When someday it will be labeled as an ancient fossil
No, that is not the way
Flowers die because I sleep in their flowerbed
Crushed they bloom, crushed they will go
I awake from the dream
and shake my head my dream catcher
All of the petals of flowers fall
each one with the same message: Forget me not

(11/29/95, at Duke’s Mental Ward)