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...