Penrose Hospital 1981

By SARAH KNUTSON

i will not go gentle

into any night of yours

no matter how many times

you tell me it’s a good one

/in this world we do not choose

parents or our lovers

the wind blows our lives

where she pleases/

i do not care

if he’s saved

multitudes of others

i will not repent

any of my sins

to the man in the white cloak

sitting beside the well

,
his fountain pen of life

dipping into dark ink

drawing buckets of insight

dripping it in phrases

onto white tablets

with stone pages

prescribing absolution

in capfuls

after each diagnosis

promising

an asymptomatic salvation

for all

who lap up the new age Word

like beggars

&believe, believe, believe

that they are born again in the spirit

of science most high
chemical improvements
to deity based religion

modern psychiatry

can work miracles

/haven’t you heard already/

for those who take all of it

on faith

i will find a fountain

to drink from 

that is not 

your instrument

or go thirsty

/we do

not in this world

choose our lovers/

jesus was an orderly 

on a hospital psych ward

I know this 

because I saw him there

he changed my bedpan

and I offered to wash his feet

with urine

either that

or the glucose

draining into my forearm

to keep indifference

from starving me to death

/they were the only ointment

i had to offer/

and later that day

while begging forgiveness

i thought

he would make a gentle lover

if only for a moment

he could stop

being god

/but we don’t choose

in this world

our lovers

& with or without

god the wind blows

where she pleases/

that particular day

i remember

a staff nurse came to tell me

they had scheduled an examination

that morning

internally

/it wasn’t her fault/

they don’t tell

crazy people things

someone

/it wasn’t her/

will be doing

inside their body

/she was following orders/

i refused to go

it wasn’t her  

/fault/

body

she came back

with the head nurse

a true believer

in hospital

order

worshipped

like a gospel

truth passed down

new every morning

on shrouded charts

left on the hallway wall

obscure scribblings

by gods

we never saw

the face of

/the Word

according to 

any M.D.

on rounds/

spreading now

like a great commission

into my bedroom

i did not need an angel 

or a brighter star

to figure out these women 

were not 

my servants

i could tell this

despite the 40 watt illumination

they were standing in

the worn metals binding each

wedding ring finger

a sign

/these sisters weren’t just anybodys

virgins mary/

i tried to refuse again

while the head nurse stared at me

with eyes like silver pieces

i could not see behind

waiting for me to sell

my body, like hers

a good woman

bears her cunt like a cross

she meant

without using that word

/if you want to get out of here

pick up your piece , missie

and bare it/

i went

/we do not choose

our lovers

 i begged

forgiveness later/

when the doctor came

for me alone

we both knew

he had won

i lay spread on my back

on a white table

and hardened

my amber eyes

grey as iron

he stood behind the sheet

erect

confident 

stainless

steel instrument  

in hands

faint sneer 

curling the lips

he entered

and i dared not move

/i went back to my room

and atoned

for both our sins

with vomit

,we do not choose

or lovers/

today i save myself

only i do it monthly

and with my own blood

i have communion 

five straight days

and am reborn

each time

i dip into wells

of living water

streaming down my legs

remember i am alive

and drink

/we love whom we love

ourselves included/

declaring this

our only freedom

bites an apple

old as sin

/Satan, 

wearing red 

lipstick

,is the only

liberated man/