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Sunday Sanitarium

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Below is the poem entitled Sunday Sanitarium which was written by poet Bernadette Langer. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Sunday Sanitarium

You knew by then there wasn't much left,
except wandering sterile halls--
amid blackened lungs; 

Where time meant nothing--
fading into insipid yesterdays, 
knitting needles complicating--
tomorrow's worried hands;

Age, flattened numbers--
held tightly against your heaving bosom,
as if engraved with loss's stone endearments.

Charred coughs loudly wheezed--
spitting hope upon white cloths,
yellowing expectation--
between porcelain veneered smiles.

But you walked, smiling anyway--
around gurneys with little slippered feet.
Blond hair capturing sunlight--
through slanted windows;

Waiting for those Sunday visits,
when youthful optimism raced up stairs,
where it was greeted with nothing--
but grown-up lies.

Did you know I hated you then?
For no comfort could be given--
amidst such blatant denials,
preparation never kissed any lips.

Now conversations interminably hang--
like unfinished tapestries;
Threads slipping through fingers--
leaving me grasping at each moment's meaning...

Copyright © Bernadette Langer

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  1. Date: 10/11/2009 10:19:00 PM
    You're a gifted writer, Bernadette. Thank you for sharing your soul-baring work. Hugs, Donna

  1. Date: 6/17/2009 2:44:00 PM
    Beautiful poem.