Meghan Marshall Poet Narrative

Visiting Hours

You didn't shake
as much in
the psych ward, 
possibly because
of the medication.
A cocktail of 
paxil, seroquel,
lithium and sedatives.
The white walls
dimmed your 
pale complexion.
The pink rosed
paintings on the
wall reflected
the first bit
of color returning
to your peaked
gaunt cheeks, and
big sad eyes.
You'd get so angry,
trying to hold back
cries...stressed
from all the secrets
of your condition that
the uniforms and 
clipboards kept 
from you.
We'd walk the 
circular hallway.
My black work loafers
and your socks 
circumfrencing the
middle ground of 
sanity.
We'd hold eachother
in the corner, under
the light wood
safety rail.
You, propped up
against the wall.
Me..pressed againt
your chest.
You'd envelope 
me with your
long arms and 
whisper in my ear
between your tears
that this...
couldn't last forever.

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