June 9, 2017

Dark night, cold tile. In the common room I perch on a gray vinyl chair.

It’s sticky.

A nurse with blue hair offers a pill in a cup. My stomach is empty, so she slips me two packs of graham crackers. A dark-haired woman hears the crackle of cellophane and smiles in my direction.

Graham crackers are like currency here in the psych ward, so I slip them into my pocket.

Two nurses join her. I am surrounded and led to a room with two narrow beds. One bed is mine; there are no sheets.

My roommate is snoring.

I curl into a ball and look out the window.

A nurse draws blood as the pill takes hold, and I slip into darkness.

.

underfoot
this blade of grass
has broken

.

.

Haibun (c) 2017 MisLucja

.

13 thoughts on “June 9, 2017”

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