Wings Over Waters

I’ve been here for a while and it is very nice despite the guy down the hall who think’s he’s Mary, Queen of Scots. I don’t mind, it’s summer now and I love the scent from the flowers growing in the garden. The days seem to go by in a blur and I’m getting to know Mark very well. He makes scrawly looped notes about how I’m getting on, how much I’ve improved here in the asylum. I tell him it’s the silence I like best, the blessed peace I get from the voices inside my head.

I tried very hard to make this a fiction piece, and I think I’ve succeeded, but it desperately wanted to be a poem. So I wrote that, too…here it is:

It’s nice here in the asylum,
smells of orange blossom
all day long; never rains
and people call me
by my Christian name.
The staff wear normal clothes
and…

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The Linnet

Just another night, she breathes a sigh

that brushes Andromeda’s outer edge

polishing the pink of its painted nebula.

 

Under the clouds he waits for an eternity

his heart the mountains beneath his feet

he whistles the wind through forest pines.

 

First a subtle lightening to midnight blue

clouds slowly tearing to reveal her smile

a blinding bright curve, a pure silver sickle.

 

Reaching heavenwards touching her light

he strokes the smooth of her lunar rays

feeling her gravity drawing up the tide.

 

She bathes his silhouette in her beams

caressing his surface into monochrome

melding gradually on each limb and crevice

Softly she enfolds his world.

 

(Louise’s poem – 2012)

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