Hospital Poems – Candice L. Daquin

you’d never know it 
a nesting doll composed within herself
but discover 10 layers down
that’s a different matter
secrets scold molten in seething center
multi-universe of reprisals, regrets, memories
washing machine on scald spin cycle
the phoenix of her soul remains folded, like flag given to widow
tucked in bed, for night terrors, for the undertaker
she runs like a yellow wallpapered woman through corridors
long hair trailing behind, bare feet damp on hospital floor
screaming somewhere in her mind;
there’s a woman! She’s falling apart seam by seam
somewhere within the memory palace of her soul
she’s cracked, a fissure running the length of indigo calm
a knife wound without respite, it digs in and splits deeper
all the pain did this, all the unknowing did this, all the indifference cemented it
like a loose spring coiled ready to burst from the heart
of ten wooden dolls absorbed into one
she falls apart in ways that resemble madness but are not madness 
they are the disarticulated parts of a human being at their most terrified
sickness can do this; it can beckon and pull and cajole you to the very edge
where nothing, nobody, seems safe, and you witness with waking terror
the abseil of your life, collapsing in on itself, grinding to dust
a preview of death? The crystal ball has no answer, few are prepared
when the bombs drop, houses constructed to keep wolves out, explode
and raining from the very sky, debris and horror like kites with teeth
you’d never know it
assessing her motionless hands clasped loosely
or the sharp ways her eyes follow conversation 
you can’t know her toes feel the very chill of the ledge
and hook themselves in one final attempt to stave off the inevitable
before she lets go and falling without weight
legs overhead, white hospital gown, faulty parachute
she’s absorbed into the next day and the next
till one morning she’s released and told she’s well
something absurd and inaccurate and foreign
tucked behind her ear like a Turkish cigarette
she signs the release papers, applies lipstick and hails a cab
just like anyone else wearing good boots and a navy winter coat
just like anyone else who arranges their dolls inside the next
each one capable of holding a myriad of screams
unheard by the rest of the world
who, sensing rain, reach for their umbrellas. 

Photo by Iza Gawrych on Unsplash

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Born in Europe, Candice Louisa Daquin is of Sephardi French/ Egyptian descent. Daquin was the Publishing Director at the U.S. Embassy (London) before becoming a Psychotherapist. Daquin is Senior Editor at Indie Blu(e) Publishing, a feminist micro-press and Editorial Partner with Raw Earth Ink. She’s also Writer-in-Residence for Borderless Journal, Editor of Poetry & Art for The Pine Cone Review and Poetry Editor for Parcham Literary Magazine. Daquin’s own poetic work takes its form from the confessional women poets of the 20th century as well as queer authors writing from the 1950’s onward. Her career(s) teaching critical thinking and practicing as a psychotherapist have heavily influenced her writing. As a queer woman of mixed ethnicity and passionate feminist beliefs concerning equality, Daquin’s poetry is her body of evidence.