Home for the weekend,
pass for good behavior,
and lots of forced smiles.
House looks the same,
my room as I left it,
baseball cards, balsa plane
I built before I got sick,
my sister peeking
through the doorway.
She was always nosy,
intrusive, like the time
she went yelling for mama
to "come see the blood oozing
under the bathroom door."
That's the last I remember-
the scream for mama.
In the hospital, my wrists
and neck were bandaged,
and blood going in my arm.
"Depression", they said
"that needs watching."
All a blur-the doctor's talks,
nurses trying to make me smile.
Mama does that now,
this weekend- games,
and favorite food.
It's good to be home, except
when I go past the bathroom,
I remember years ago,
when I yelled for mama
to come, see blood oozing
under the bathroom door,
to find papa laying dead
on the red painted floor.
Somehow in my secret heart,
life don't seem right anymore.

05/20/2003

Posted on 05/21/2003
Copyright © 2025 Jane E Pearce