Breaking Glass

Gold cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Tue, 02 Dec 2014
  • 8038 reads
16 comments
 
Died inside when they ushered me in; 
my mother – stripped naked, mirrored 
in a frigid, washroom door.
 
Looked on as they forced her take a bath; she –
Lily by name and nature, they – 
who would douse her
in disinfectant. 
 
Just doing our jobs; that’s the way
we do things in here.  You should see
some of ‘em we get...crawling with lice.
If you don’t like it, love,
wait outside...
 
where my dad was. I prayed he couldn’t hear
her screams.
 
Hard to imagine, those same lips –
kissed a grazed knee better, could only spew
profanities in a futile attempt to revive
a dignity in its death throes. 
 
Find scissors in her bag; I’d trim her nails;
Dad had done his best for over ten years,
but swimming upstream, presently.
 
It’s just me, mum.  No need to be afraid...
How stupid could I have been?
 
‘Me’, might have been Lucifer himself
for all she could conceive, as she grabbed my wrist –
pinned me down with those eyes; small
as the ocean, big as alone.  
 
Sectioned; papers, duly signed.  
The early eighties; Alzheimer’s, a fancy word
for going out of one’s mind.
 
Confiscated – scissors, engraved with her name,
sterling silver compact, most everything she had – even 
her wedding ring – locked up; the key...thrown away.
 
“Nothing like that permitted here...in case
they hurt themselves, you see?”
 
Oh, but I did.
 
In Case of Emergency, 
Break Glass...
 
 
 
Certificate 15
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

How heartbreaking a memory. Care is such a mixed bag - I think understanding of how to care with dignity in these difficult conditions has progressed since the eighties, but then, with the increasing need, the closing of some really caring homes because of wanting more fiddly rules that were meant for the good of the patients, but lost the balance of the main need being for kind care and friendly situations, the lack of finance, and training, and understanding of the need not only for supervision but also for training in how to cope in what can be a very difficult job of forebearance and stress …
Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Rhiannon - you empathy, incredible.  

Tina

 

Submitted by scratch on

Holy moley Tina.  Brilliant.  Love the use of the seen text at the end.  Really very very good.  Bloody excellent in fact.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Ta, scratch...a million.

 

 

Submitted by Stephen Thom on

Wow this had a lot of impact. Clearly a v hard subject but I think it is wonderful as well to be able to convey these things in this way and gain a better and more compassionate understanding through reading and think it over and apply in your own way (in life...sorry so bad at wording). I only did a little work in care but felt quite restrained by verbal and emotional boundaries, anyway they are there for a reason but sometimes to the point of being reduced to a dispenser of set phrases and actions with too little genuine human interaction. Then there was a really good company that focused on enabling in whatever small ways, anything enabling, but they struggled for funding. Anyway here I loved the wording arrangement of 'but swimming upstream, presently' and 'pinned me down with those eyes; small as the ocean'. Wonderful poem, sorry for long comment.

 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Apologies, unnecessary.

Instead, my thanks, to you, Stephen, for sharing you thoughts, so very eloquently.

Tina

 

Submitted by VeraClark on

Deeply unsettling and beautifully wrought. 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Vera.  More than you know.

Tina

 

Submitted by Ray Schaufeld on

Shocking to read that your mother was treated like this in the eighties. It could almost be the workhouse before the NHS. Sharply written, really gives a horribly clear picture of the sheer awfulness for your mother and for yourself, Tina.

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thank you, elsie.  That day is etched on my mind.  She only survived two weeks there, and the building - demolished in 1995.

Tina

 

Submitted by celticman on

it is the workhouses, but with fancy gardens, same low pay, same shite. same excuses. Don't go there. Die first. 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Ain't that a fact...

 

Submitted by Bee on

Made me cry.

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

So sorry about that, Bee.  I'm sorry, but be comforted by the fact, as I was, she went to a better place...a much better one.

Thank you so much for reading, and for your empathy.

Tina

 

Submitted by Shannan on

Tina, I've been on Moonphish's case for awhile about getting his stuff in an anthology and by greatness I hope you have done so with yours too! Your grandkids / great-nieces and nephews need to know that they come from an amazingly talented gene-pool... and heaven-forbid in every way that your journey is similar to your mother's in this poem, I pray, but if the heaven's choose otherwise, then your anthology will remind you every day of the beautiful, uplifting and wonderful being you are... :-) and your story will follow a path nothing like your mother's one in this poem... Just had to put this out there... Keep writing, keep smiling and crystalising :-)

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hi there, Shannan, indebted to you for your words.  They mean so very much to me.smiley

Hope you have a super Saturday, and at least the sun is shining in my neck of the woods.

Tina