IN HOSPITALThe glide begins, direction down,
the happy girl has gone to hell.
She lies in bed, her mouth an O,
her breath a whisper of dissent.The wrist restraints are loosened now,
her midnight struggle done.
If they are needed yet again,
we’ll take that as a sign of life,
of last-gasp courage, not of hope.Her broken bones may heal, but mind
.
that will not mend remains.
All the happiness that health sustains
shall not restore that happy girljh
