Princess Royal Hospital

It's just past 7 am.

The bone-rattling jingle of the phone

Has melted through my sleep.

Mum picks it up after 3 rings, from somewhere deep in the house.

The echo of her voice is bright, sad, reassuring.....

I lollop out of my bed, flailing my shanky legs, stumbling over

Text books gathering morose dust.

Suspicions taking root in my head.

Stumble down the twist of the stairs

Like the innards of a conch.

They are grey in the early morning sheen.

A metallic crunch:

The front door waves cold air over me. Granddad is ushered in

Crumpled face, hunched over, sour,

grey hairs blowing around his head like wisps of smoke.

Dad catches my eye. "I'll bring you a cup of tea, Liv."

I sit on my bed.

She's there

(For the second time, Christ knows why)

In the belly of that inhuman monster

And it's awful horned tower,

Somewhere,

In a ward full of people who don't know what year it is;

At the end of that scenic route

To Haywards Heath

Just past the machines which squirt cold acid into your palm.

"Granddad hasn't slept. He's just a bit sad. Come down and give him a cuddle in a bit. Bring that drawing you did."

Dad plonks the mug down. It quivers and tea seeps over the edge.

Downstairs, the toaster jumps up merrily

Blissfully unaware

Of how painfully you can miss something

When you fear it's wriggled away. 

Reviews

[blob blob]

ah-wow-so much emotion here...
this i a grand piece of poetry...

[cad]

Beautiful. I don't know what else to say.

[mope]

Your poem means a lot to me as I have some personal memories and lack of memories of this particular hospital. It is as though you have filled in some of the gaps for me. Thanks. And I'm sure the more subjective readers will appreciate it as well - a lot of imagery and nice personal touches.