Was She Pretty?

this was hard to write and i know it is not my best work, but i wanted to say something.

Was She Pretty?

During my internship at the mental hospital,
a young woman greeted me, day after day,
to ask if she was pretty and if I loved her.
I said, yes. yes.
because she was pretty and because
I wanted to please her, and affection
is not that difficult to distribute, especially
if you have been given plenty of it.
So each day she abducted my attention
and wondered if I might be her sister
and did I have a boyfriend or a baby?
and would I be her friend, would i be her friend,
Would I Be Her Friend!!?
I said yes, yes, yes.
and she said, here..
and handed me a comb
so i combed her hair.
I touched her hair and she grew still.
sometimes she would reach up
and touch my fingers on the comb
and follow the strokes down
sometimes she would hold her head
all the way back so that she could stare
into my face
and always, do you love me, in that voice
of child like desperation,
as she searched for someone I might be,
or may have been, long ago.

her hair was beautiful and brown.

Before I left there, she pulled the plaster
from a high, barred window
and used it as a knife
so the aides hurried and took her to isolation,
the last place she had meant to be,
as though isolation would cure
that terrible need.

I wish someone had combed her hair
all of her life.

Reviews

[Emily B]

Affection is so easy for us to share. For the most part. A moment or two of our time. A smile.

I wish she had more of that. The least among us need the most. If we fail that, . . . you were right when you said this was hard to write. It is hard to read, too. When we put ourselves in that place, and the situation could so easily be reversed. It is a thin line.

I'm beginning to think I need to grow more affection. Come harvest time, I'll set it out in bushel baskets on the roadside. Maybe it will find a good home.

[Marie Anzalone]

There are some I believe, who are sent here to teach the rest of us a lesson about human kindness. How much time and effort does it take, really, to reach out and tell someone she's beautiful? To touch her for five minutes? We guard our energy and spirits like misers counting pennies, saying, "I will give to the deserving among us", but really, who are we to judge?

I agree with Emily when she said, "I wish she had more of that".

Thank you, truly, for sharing such a simply gorgeous piece of humanity.

[Emily B]

Maybe, leave it as it was until the last two stanzas:

Before I left there, she pulled the plaster
from a high, barred window
and used it as a knife
so the aides hurried and took her to isolation,
the last place she had meant to be,
as though isolation would cure
that terrible need.

I wish someone had combed her hair
all of her life.

Maybe use the stanzas from the other:

One day she pulled some plaster from a high
barred window and she used it as a knife. So
they took her to isolation, as though isolation
would cure her.

It made me wish someone had combed her hair
all her life. Her hair was beautiful - long and
shiny and very very brown.

[Ed Hart]

when we all say yes, then the trials will be over....

[Shellie]

This is well written, i must admit it does lack flow and it sounds more like a short story, BUT you'd get away with it as a poem. Very admirable writing, and it did sound like it was hard to write, but its written and you know i think this will stick in peoples minds, its got that quality. Believe you me, everytime I pass th psychiatric hospital near my city, I know I'll think of this. It really is great.