In Captivity

by

 

by Vera Lisa Smetzer

 

Yesterday you were lucid, lithium
working, then at midnight, the walls

closed into so small a space,
you screamed until they gagged you,

tied you to the bed and now,
you rock, unbound, smile up at me,

point to your crayon drawings
taped to the pale beige walls.

Birds. “Large enough to ride on,”
you whisper and reach for my hand.

Over the speakers we hear Bach’s Prelude,
then Fugue in C. You keep pacing

measured steps from bed to bureau,
creating space with sweeping strokes

of a fat blue Crayola. You map your
flight, flap your arms, as you

find your voice, you hum,
then call as birds do after the storm.

 

Copyright © 2017 by Alvera Lisa Smetzer

Sky above Land's End, Maine - photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer

Sky above Land’s End, Maine – photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer

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