“My body is a ghost
No one about but my intelligence
Quickening...”
A bell rang for afternoon rest
She snuggled, wriggling toes under the thin blanket
The weight of things to have to do left
For others. Drip by intravenous drip, liquid moments
Slipping past, minutely marked in measures
Of vital signs and the ward clocks
Keeping pace. The monitor spewed luminous zig-zags
With constancy. A reassuring scrutiny yet keeping tabs
Cast doubt between the pulse, as if such spans
Were truly tight-roped time. And still her limbs
Languid in the sick bed, would not climb
Far from its grasp. Had she fallen victim
To seductive lethargy? This novel willingness
A Stockholm syndrome sign of sickness.
Submission to an opiate order – such stillness
bordering on defeat. It felt then that death
was reeling out the winding sheet, earth
readying itself to open. She caught her breath
to arrest the poised, primal scream. A quickening
mind surfaced in clear, cold realisation, awakening
desires beyond doors, for all the uncertainty of Spring
Epigraph from Elizabeth Jennings' 'Decision on a July night' and with this poem for my Poetics prompt, I've aimed to invoke her commitment to formal verse and somewhat ambivalent attachment to ORDER
PoetryPix 
You not only set the prompt, Laura, you also set the bar high with your poem. You’ve captured the atmosphere of a hospital ward in the lines:
‘…Drip by intravenous drip, liquid moments
Slipping past, minutely marked in measures
Of vital signs and the ward clocks
Keeping pace…’
and
‘Submission to its opiate order brought stillness
bordering on defeat….’
thank you Kim for such high praise – the hospital and its orderliness was a moment of inspiration when I realised I had to match my prompt!
Oh my gosh, this is an amazing read. I am right there in this hospital ward. I am so VERY glad there is a spring that brings life at the end!
many thanks for this feedback – so glad you felt that ending spring out of order into uncertainty
Oh, this is so good… I needed to read it a few time to really get to that struggle of the structure of order acting like a warden of the prison… I like the thought of spring bringing some well-deserved chaos.
hospitals are a little like prisons – so much confinement and the outside world a distant memory
I like the desire for spring in the last line and the description of seductive lethargy in the previous two stanzas.
there lies the contrast!
You took us all to the hospital with this one, so beautifully describing the nuances of a hospital ward. I’m glad for the thoughts of Spring at the end!
it was an impromptu imagery for my prompt – relieved that it came as was wondering what to write!
I used to have a T-shirt that read “Choose Life”. To fight against chaos, to struggle with adversity, to say NO to the kiss of death–all such necessary messaging during this dark time; nice job.
sometimes we must submit to order but never relinquish the will to live!
The imagery is so powerful in this poem, from “liquid moments slipping past”, and “tightroped time” (which reminded me of Shane Koyzan’s “To this day”) and Death reeling out the winding sheet.
Thank you.
The Lonely Recluse
and thank you for such fine feedback
Oh my! A sickbed can be such chaos to a body used to moving in order an measure. I feel her confinement in your words.
thank you Mary – yes there is chaos in sickness and maybe why the ward is run so orderly
Your poem images grim necessary order only to end in and other choice through the open door!
there is a world outside the ward which when invalid we can sometimes lose sight of
We tend to live with blinders on that shields us from what is really going on!
illness confines our outlook!
Yes it does!
I don’t have the words to express appreciation for this.
yours is the best appreciation of all then Lucy – especially also since it must resonate somewhat
It does!
Speechless…
very encouraging Marina – thank you!
💐
your vivid pictorial of an orderly ward resonate, glad that door sprung open!
yes the door is always there – reminds me a bit of these lines from Eliot
” I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison”
that’s deep, thanks for sharing
This has a wonderful rhythm and the way pace accelerates at the end is just like a sudden awakening. (K)
had not noticed that so well observed – it matches the urge to get up and go through those doors
We are all feeling it.
There’s determination at the end of this, but loneliness throughout.
of course – that’s the nature of illness – we bear it alone and have to guard against sinking into solipsism