The Waiting Room

The waiting room chairs
Were hard, red plastic.
They said; ‘don’t get too
Comfortable’, and
‘Move along, please’, while
Digging their edges
Into the backs of
Her thighs.  They left pale,
Pink marks as impermanent
Reminders when the
Smiling nurse called her
Name, and she stood.

She returned to the
Waiting room, later
That year.  Sweating
Under layers of wool
And polyester.
Heartbeat erratic,
Watching bare branches
Through the glass as they
Bent and battled against
The late winter storm.

She sits motionless,
But would much rather
Run – through the double
Doors and away; to
Embrace an icy,
Bitter freedom on
The outside.  To curl
And become a ball
Of arms and legs and
Torso.  Safe on the
Second hand sofa –
Where no one can reach
Her, to tell her that
She is no longer
A mother.

Matryoshka

I wrote this when experimenting for the poetry TMA.

Matryoshka*

A traditional Russian nesting doll the matryoshka is a set of wooden dolls of decreasing size placed one inside the other.  In Russia they have come to be known as “Little Mother” being symbols of fertility and motherhood.

Her shiny red smile,
Is full of life.  Nurture
Reflected in curves.  Bulbous,
A red bouquet blooms upon
Her middle.  Sterile
She shatters into pieces.

The smile decreases on
Her tiny daughters.
Bright red petals fall from
Her abdomen.  Resting on
The mantel, her wooden
Façade remains unchanged.

 

*(Pronunciation:  Mat-ree-osh-ka)