by Austin Reece
No clocks, and the furniture was excessively heavy.
Toothbrushes were locked in closets and floss was a no-no.
Do you want to play cards or ping pong?
Music was piped into every room. Phones were forbidden,
but physical photographs were fine to have.
Do you want to see a picture of my cat?
Announcements came over the loudspeaker: “Dinner is served,”
“De-escalation needed in room 20.”
Staff-issued pencils measured 2.5 inches in length
and came equipped with pink erasers of disproportionate size.
Writing letters and drawing pictures were encouraged,
and Friday nights were game nights.
You are your own worst critic.
The ward was in the shape of a rectangle.
Twenty-six times around the rectangle equaled one mile.
One pain can hide another pain.
The television was set to a channel featuring romance fantasies
taking place during the Christmas season.
One person’s mouth hung open without ever closing.
One person got on the floor with the therapy dog.
It gets better, I promise.
In the group therapy room there were twelve chairs.
Three of those chairs sat two people each.
One person wore a blanket over their head like a prayer shawl.
They used the word “fuck” in even the simplest sentences.
Fuck yes. Fuck no.
It was dark by 4:15 pm.
It was the dead of winter.
Someone circled yes to the question,
Do you want to kill yourself?
It’s the disease talking.
After dinner, patients waited in line for one of two phones
whose cords were exceptionally short.
I miss you.
One person opened a dictionary and found the word “cincture,”
which means binding or being bound, by guilt for example.
The word cinerarium
was close by.
I’m so tired of being tired.
One person had a tattoo on their arm of a head breaking into pieces.
Below the head were flowers reminiscent of a child’s drawing.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…
A tall black gate with a grove of trees in the distance.
Without their leaves the trees were hands raised in disbelief.
Some things just kill you.
One person put on their glasses to see snow falling outside the window
and shouted for the others to look.
They gathered round like giddy children in a choir, but instead of mouths
they momentarily sang with their open eyes.
It’s perfect, like a dream.
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