Perhaps it is unhealthy
to fantasize about the asylum
the way others summon sandy beaches
and palm trees heavy with coconuts,
but I know that place, I visit my sister there.
I pass an elderly patient gazing into the wall,
parked in a wheelchair and lost in fields of white.
I pause as envy rises like bile.
I lean down, whisper-hiss into his shriveled ear:
Take me with you!
He does not blink.
I resist the urge to shove him,
to tumble him from his perch,
settling into his chair as though it's a throne.
No matter.
It's my sister's bed I really want,
the world contained within the perimeter
of a plastic-sheeted mattress.
I would pass the hours still as statue
as the streak of sun traveled from foot to knee.
I watch the slow rise and fall of her blanketed chest
and think of the summer trips of childhood,
her riding shotgun and me in the backseat,
tapping her shoulder, asking
for a turn.
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by everyadventure
