Hospital Sill Poem by Donal Mahoney
Hospital Sill
'On the sill today
the sun's pure white.
Usually it's gold, '
says Nell, propped
in a smock,
all frills,
sipping tea
turning cold
as she braids
white ram
horns of hair
high and tight
to the sides
of her skull.
'On the gold days
like this I warm
my hands for hours
at a time on this sill.
'Yesterday,
the doctor said
someone should
paint me.
A still life
that's what he said.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/8/2024 9:22:28 AM # 1.0.0.1119
