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Fire
In the hospital
I had danced to music
only I could hear, my
purple patient’s gown billowing
around me as I twirled in the hallways.
The doctors said I
was manic. I disagreed.
I said
I was like a bird
singing
in a cage.
This intense summer had evaporated
my never-ending winter, and
I couldn’t be persuaded
to anything milder.
So they moved me here.
A better prison, but a prison still.
There’s a bookshelf—
I scanned it; I passed
the self help books
and romance novels
until I found a thin book labeled
The Madman: his Parables and Poems.
Fitting, I thought.
Now I’m sitting in the hot May sun,
my hands
run over the metal mosaic table
over and over again, as if
memorizing
the grooves and tiles.
I open The Madman and I read.
“Blessed, blessed are the thieves
who stole my masks!” the madman cries, and
I understand him.
Like him, my masks have been stolen away and now
I am a fire that spreads
and burns.
Still, I won’t go back to the cold.
They said I am sick, but I feel so free.
Don’t worry about me—
in this facility I feel
I am finding myself,
even by rubbing my hands over this table
and feeling the fire of the sun.
© katiewrites
I had danced to music
only I could hear, my
purple patient’s gown billowing
around me as I twirled in the hallways.
The doctors said I
was manic. I disagreed.
I said
I was like a bird
singing
in a cage.
This intense summer had evaporated
my never-ending winter, and
I couldn’t be persuaded
to anything milder.
So they moved me here.
A better prison, but a prison still.
There’s a bookshelf—
I scanned it; I passed
the self help books
and romance novels
until I found a thin book labeled
The Madman: his Parables and Poems.
Fitting, I thought.
Now I’m sitting in the hot May sun,
my hands
run over the metal mosaic table
over and over again, as if
memorizing
the grooves and tiles.
I open The Madman and I read.
“Blessed, blessed are the thieves
who stole my masks!” the madman cries, and
I understand him.
Like him, my masks have been stolen away and now
I am a fire that spreads
and burns.
Still, I won’t go back to the cold.
They said I am sick, but I feel so free.
Don’t worry about me—
in this facility I feel
I am finding myself,
even by rubbing my hands over this table
and feeling the fire of the sun.
© katiewrites
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