Reads: 452  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic



That pensive girl her daddy’d
Called her. Woman now. Things
Coming undone about her. The

Mind unravelling like a ball of
Wool. Her mother had her doing
That: arms out stretched, the wool

Placed over them, while her mother
Unwound the wool into a ball. Boring
That was. Kept staring at her mother

Hoping she’d say, right then that’ll do,
But she never did, not until the job was
Done and her arms ached. Pensive.

Never knew as a child what it meant.
Brooding her mother’d said. Sulking
As you always do. Contemplative,

Sister Clare had said when she’d
Asked the nun after mass one day.
That word had confused her more.

She preferred Daddy’s pensive,
More mysterious, darker. Now her
Mind was undone. Things were

Falling apart. There was a darkness
Brewing. There was a crack in her
Heart. Doctor Kelly had given her

Drugs to help her sleep and calm
Her nerves. But all she did got was
A drugged sleep and a dull brain.

Then came the locked ward and
ECT and others for company as
Bad as she. Pensive, preoccupied,

Lost in thought, the doctors said.
What the heck: she was the broken
Doll and the mind a sunken wreck.

Submitted: February 15, 2010

© Copyright 2022 dadio. All rights reserved.