Summertime was warm
and the grass was cool and green.
Once again we moved;
from where to there is so unclear
like staring through a looking glass
I couldn’t start unraveling
my tangled mess of broken string
if every breath of daily life
depended on remembering.
My one remaining frame
concerns a green external scene;
a bleak cinder block cottage
beside a wide concrete sidewalk
that winds around the grounds
in a park-like place of quiet,
row upon row of dense duplicity.
However we got there, here we were
inside the fenced in confines of
The California State Hospital at Bakersfield;
interred interminably for the duration
of my father’s suite of psychiatric residency.
Some could understand
that a place like this might be
a somewhat unlikely site
to raise a six year old daughter.
I remember marking time
deciphering odds and ends
of obscure paranoid delusions
overheard in gaffes of adult chatter.
I observed with childish eyes
in constant daily contact
with resident patients strolling by my house,
me in pigtails playing with my dolls;
perhaps my parents kept watch on me above.
I never knew for sure
and I never asked an answer
now they’re lost and gone forever
all their memories disbursed
like fragile fragments in the wind.
Still, at times I stop and wonder
when the old hospital closed
safely shuttered and demolished
considered a useless eyesore,
were all the sheltered patients sent scattered
on sick city streets to fend for themselves
like me when I was just seventeen years old?
Re: Cottage on the Grounds (Score: 1) by wordsmithwannabe on Friday, March 26, 2010 (15:14:41)
lordy lordy, I don't even know what to say to this!! you grabbed hold of me and didn't let go, I'm still stuck on the last 3 verses. damn it all, this has crawled under my skin and I can't stop reading it. the blend of imagery and utter sadness is intoxicating. another brilliant piece my darlin, just brilliant.