The Hospital for Dolls

What if one woman told the truth about her life? The worldwould split open. Muriel Rukeyser

1.
The blind giant tied on
his boots, unfolded his
stick and strode through
the bitumen black to
ignite the stars.
The moon came on
like an obscene dancer,
shedding clouds like clothes
on the floor of the sky.

Everybody leered
and applauded.

Yes
the night they bundled
me up in their van -
a guilt ridden witch -
was like any other.

The security chain broke
like a string of pearls.
When they were done
the front door was
a mess of splinters.
When it was all over
the dead bolt lay like
a rape on the carpet.

2.
I was in the theatre
listening to Chopin

as the doctor unhooked his
butcher's coat from the hanger -
his coat with the blood
like the pulped heads of tulips -
spilled down the front

while the sister
laid out in a neat glistening line
scalpel speculem curette
vacuum cleaner.

the anaesthetic took
me like an undertow.
I washed up cradled
in the crisp white palms
of hospital sheets
to the doctor's rat grey
eyes watching me from
the top of a chart.

3.
The vases are dry.
I receive no cards.
Outside
umbrellas sprout like
mushrooms,
the chimney stacks
burn and burn.

There is nothing to do.
A tray of eggs
tasty as pellets
rests on my knees.
My nipples are flat
as the spare change
in my overnight bag.

4.
If I could
turn back these sheets
like time
if I could
stop these moving walls
if I could
refuse this air
like clay
if I could push through like a seed
to the sun

I would swing these two
stalk legs like the shafts of cranes
out over the edge -
ease on slippers
dressing gown
take up bag

and steal like a ghost
in a flower patterned cape
silent as a seal
through the night
from this ward
past that place
where babies with toenails
fragile as the wings of Xmas beetles
clutch the attendant finger -

past that place where babies
mewl like puppies and kittens
and grub - mole blind for the
milky teat

where love dumb parents
stroke that tuft of hair
that blue veined scalp
and discover
the unknitted bone.

I would find the great basement oven.
I wouldn't care about the alarms -
I would upset the bins
like a dog.

I would barge through
the doors,
the moon at my back
like a god,
the bony fingers of death
at my neck
groping for the ties
of the hospital gown.

If I could
I would flee to the river
to rock, to knit
two booties and a burial train -
ivory white
and spectacular
as the milky way

to the river
to lay
my baby to rest
in a bed of stone
and glass.
 
 

Melissa Ashley

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