Patient #2649: Arrival
God save me. God could not. Safe here away from him, or nearer. A door. Another
(door after door) and I open. I open my bags. They’ve emptied (me). They’ve taken
her. God (be with me) let me keep the baby. I’ve not had time to finish her blanket.
The final door. Open(s).
What I Became
Quim-whiskers
Mossy treasure
Parsley bed
Plush
Love seat
Cock trap
Front parlour
That thing
Snapped shut
What I Left Behind
1 scrubbing brush
1 kettle
3 dishcloths
1 bar carbolic soap
1 enamel bowl
2 packets ammonia
1 broom
1 husband
3 sons
1 daughter
There is Room
They examined it 27 Feb
said it was full things in there I cannot
name
the first a ring
the second an apron
no
the first was an apron
and undershirts
gowns slippers
dresses a trunk
I’d never worn
the apron they’d not believe
if I told them
they checked the box
next to quiet
they named
my womb
Tender.
Bath Rules
1) Under
no circumstances
is a Patient to be bathed
unless two Attendants are
present.
2) In preparing a Bath the cold water is to be turned on
first.
3) Not more than one
Patient is to be bathed in the same
water.
4) No brush of any kind
should be employed
in bathing a
Patient.
5) Under no pretext
is the Patient’s head
to be put under
water.
Author’s statement about the poems: Not that long ago in our history, women were labeled as “other” and committed to asylums to cure them of perceived difference. These poems spring from historical research into the 1887-1948 patient records of Southwestern State Hospital in Marion, VA. The hospital, which opened as an asylum in the 1800s, is one of few in the country still open today. I grew up in a neighboring small town, and it was common for adults to summon up the asylum as a way to keep us children in line.
Tina Parker is the author of the poetry collections Mother May I and Another Offering. To learn more about her work, visit www.tina-parker.org.
Show Tina some love via PayPal at christinapar(at)gmail(dot)com.