Inflatable Sheep

1993: A very dark night. A night that will continue for another three years. This was a time of “suicidal ideation,” a time spent in a few psychiatric units, a time of wall-to-wall pain with no end in sight. I picked up collaging when words failed, and, oh my, the images that spewed forth.

When words began to come back to me, I scraped them together in poem-like forms.

Psychiatric Laundromat

Rock me big, white Maytag Mama
As you go from rinse to spin.
Rock me on the delicate cycle
Until I'm clean and pure again.

With a single scoop of soap,
Scrub me right down to the fiber.
Remove my stains, remove my pains,
Become my Higher Power.

Oh let me lay within the warmth
Of your big, round dryer belly.
Throw a sheet of softener o'er me
To cover sorrow that has held me.

Then take me out, all wrinkle-free.
Present me to the world again:
Neatly folded, smelling fresh,
Without a hint of static cling.

The Thing That Never Happened

It climbs on top of my chest and squats there.
It jumps at me from shadowy corners.
So, I've made rules to protect myself
From the long night's many horrors.

Never enter a darkened room
Without turning on the light.

No matter what you think you hear,
Never look under your bed at night.

Never walk backwards down the hallway;
Turn to face the hidden danger.

Never force open a door that's locked—
Because it's been locked for a reason.

Never step over a body that's dead,
No matter how dead the body seems.

And when he stands by your bed in moonlight
And at last you begin to scream,
Remember that your mama told you
It was only just a dream.