Illness Poem X

So I've started following this AppleHouse Poetry Workshop Blog - which I would link to if html ever played along for me on Blogger. I'm sure a link is off to the right somewhere, or locatable through my profile, or something. I take it with a grain of salt, it sort of encourages revelation of deeper issues through letting one's mind wander, when I often take a more confrontational approach. Also I think too much of the produce favors nostalgia and that airy-nothing voice that you adopt when reading florid prose that is also somehow emotionless.
Anyhow, the activities are intersting. From this month's you were supposed to picture a photo of you as a child, write what you were in that photo, describe it, then say what you at that age didn't know was coming up. Leave it for a few days, return then write a poem.
I didn't leave it. and my end result is not much like the original intention. Well they say to go where the emotion takes you. All my "crap" is not something I usually share though.
I can also see where it isn't well written, but don't feel like changing it right now.



Illness Poetry X


Dear Mum.
I will always remember
That time you had a friend over
Or maybe an auntie
And you were talking about me.
How I had been sleeping on mouldy bed sheets
And hadn’t even realized.
Having a giggle over what a slob I am.
I hadn’t known.
I still didn’t know, until you came out and said it years later, over tea.
But you knew.
How could you have known
And thought everything was normal?
How couldn’t you see that I was sick?
That I was not coping?
Like Miss Haversham I lay
In a rotten bed wishing
I could die and the pain would end.
Sobbing and unable to brush my own hair
I know you were busy but
How could you not help me?
Now I sit here in my snot
Horrified and humiliated.

You still don’t get it.


Love Kathryn.