8 May

I checked in looking like a battered pugilist.
Bloody angry slimy slippery violet and blue.
They showed me my Ma.
They brought me up to her.
But she didn’t care so much to see me.
She was in tremendous pain.
They had missed several times with the epidural needle in her spine.
Plus the emergency C didn’t feel too brilliant.
I didn’t care so much to see her either.
Later my Ma didn’t want to look at me for too long.
She thought I looked like Gary Coleman.
She was still in tremendous pain
from the surgery.
And they wouldn’t give her any more pills
for some reason.
She was convinced they had given her placebos.
And that the nurses were pocketing the pills
and selling them to addicts.
My Ma…
she was scared into being strong.
And when I was six she said she always wanted a boy.
She started dressing me as one.
And took photographs.
(six decades go here)
I came to the hospital with flowers
but the door to her room was closed
and a wreath hung by a nail just off center a little.


2 Responses to “Ma”

  1. Robb 08/05/2011 at 1:43 PM #

    The nurses WERE pocketing the pills. This is lovely. I especially like this part:

    “(six decades go here)”

    Nice move.

  2. Lx 08/05/2011 at 3:08 PM #

    It’s always a pleasure and so interesting to me what people get out of these small pieces on this site. I must say this, we both like the same part. It may make sense; two writers latching onto the same part. Without explaining too much, every life is one’s own, probably already documented in some form, yet highly personal. In this piece, what was important for me was the beginning and the end. The middle is to be filled in by everyone reading it.

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