NEAR FALL 1971

TWO PATIENTS ON A LOCKED PSYCHIATRIC WARD IN 1971

Yiska says
in balance
my life seems

to tip down
towards doom
each new day

begins dark
part of me
seeks new ways

to end it
I listen
to her words

as we stand
by the door
bright white of

the locked ward
there's a square
of window

I have days
where there's
part of me

seeking that
I tell her
both of us

have the scars
on bodies
to prove such

nurses pass
hurriedly
behind us

in their blue
and their white
uniforms

stiff with starch
flapping past
Yiska's wrist

has a scar
white as wool
and she says

there are cracks
deep and dark
where we walk

within which
we can fall
holding hands

we walk back
to the lounge
and sit down

on the sofa
wide and fat
which is brown.