\n<\/p>\n
I’ve spent much of my life close to people with various mental health conditions. The care they have received over the years – and the understanding they’ve experienced from others – has ranged from the gentle to the brutal. This poem was my attempt to understand one of the most brutal things of all that has happened to two people, in particular, who are very close to me. It was published in my debut collection, “A Long Way to Fall”, in 2013, and I’m honoured that it was also accepted for re-publication in Isabelle Kenyon’s\u00a0seminal anthology “Please Hear What I’m Not Saying”, to raise funds and awareness for MIND.<\/em><\/p>\n (Photo: a view from my one and only visit (to date) to Shetland, which the metadata on the photo tells me was in 2009. A selkie place if ever there was one).<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n In the white room In the white room In the white room And when I dream and there I discover They dance with me, Our breath is bubbles The dreaming stops. I let them prod, I’ve spent much of my life close to people with various mental health conditions. The care they have received over the years – and the understanding they’ve experienced from others – has ranged from the gentle to the brutal. This poem was my attempt to understand one of the most brutal things of all that […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":31101,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"fifu_image_url":"https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513","fifu_image_alt":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[11989],"tags":[1894,8776,21353,7819],"class_list":["post-31100","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry-news","tag-games","tag-loud","tag-selkie","tag-write"],"rttpg_featured_image_url":{"full":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",0,0,false],"landscape":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",0,0,false],"portraits":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",0,0,false],"thumbnail":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",150,150,false],"medium":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",300,300,false],"large":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",1024,1024,false],"1536x1536":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",1536,1536,false],"2048x2048":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",2048,2048,false],"post-thumbnail":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",370,265,false],"kava-thumb-s":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",150,85,false],"kava-thumb-s-2":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",230,230,false],"kava-thumb-m":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",400,400,false],"kava-thumb-m-vertical":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",370,500,false],"kava-thumb-m-2":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",570,450,false],"kava-thumb-l":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",1170,650,false],"kava-thumb-xl":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",1920,1080,false],"kava-thumb-masonry":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",600,999,false],"kava-thumb-justify":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",640,640,false],"kava-thumb-justify-2":["https:\/\/www.writeoutloud.net\/images\/entry\/146513",1280,640,false]},"rttpg_author":{"display_name":"#RiseCelestialStudios","author_link":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/author\/ralph-c\/"},"rttpg_comment":0,"rttpg_category":"POETRY NEWS<\/a>","rttpg_excerpt":"I’ve spent much of my life close to people with various mental health conditions. The care they have received over the years – and the understanding they’ve experienced from others – has ranged from the gentle to the brutal. This poem was my attempt to understand one of the most brutal things of all that…","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31100","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=31100"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31100\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":31102,"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31100\/revisions\/31102"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/31101"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=31100"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=31100"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/design-providers.com\/rise\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=31100"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\na nurse holds my wrists,
\ndabs me with disinfectant-soaked cotton.
\nA kindly burning.<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m given a plastic cup
\nwith a liquid that smells of blackberries
\nand tastes like soggy almonds.<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m allowed to dream
\nwhile two electrodes count the pulses in my brow,
\ntwo pens mark spikes on a chart.<\/p>\n
\nthe bed beneath me falls away
\nand I\u2019m carried on cold fat rivers to the place
\nwhere the sea meets the sky;<\/p>\n
\nI can unzip my human skin,
\nstretch into a world of seaweed and blue
\nwith fingers made for swimming.<\/p>\n
\nmy sisters, among the reefs
\nwhere watching eyes will never spy us out.
\nWe touch noses, kiss underwater.<\/p>\n
\ncaught in a moonbeam\u2019s glimmer,
\nour heartbeats follow the rising and falling
\nof every wave, each tide.<\/p>\n
\nI zip up my skin, return
\nto the white room. The too-bright world,
\ngarish, cold in its glare.<\/p>\n
\nknowing they will never
\nunstitch me, never drown the aftertaste
\nof wet peat in my mouth.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"