They Say You Get Used To It, This Place Poem by Indigo Hawkins

I met a girl in October-my roommate, she
Sang herself to sleep with prayers, after asking
If I minded, but I just shook my head and stared
At the wall, and in the shadows (the nurses
Kept a light on in the room adjacent) read the
Angst my forbears carved into the headboard-
Quite a feat as even sharpened pencils were
on a Lockdown. But my roommate, she was an
Angel; the nicest of our bunch which coalesced
On the hour to discuss, calm and composed, the
Rationale of our lunacy; Of us all, if not
The most sincere, my roommate, she
Was definitely the sweetest, most considerate
She loved her mother very much
But apparently a traumatic childhood nurtures
A lot of rage, and her temper was explosive-
Sometimes violent, and sometimes, her uncle
Retaliated, and once after a visit, she holed up
In our bathroom and began such distraught keening
As to throw the entire department into a frenzy, and
Of which I was absurdly-and appropriately-jealous
After all, she was there because she had too much
Emotion, and I was there, because (I had none.)
Later, when the quiet settled, she confided
An inability to convey gratitude and asked for
My advice, but I just shook my head and stared
At the wall, and in the shadows
Listened to her sing herself to sleep. My roommate, she
Made me ashamed, with her strength.