O EVE.

A WOMAN AND HER MADNESS

O Eve,
they say,
sit there now,
be quiet a while,
that chair,
that chair there,
the nurse says,
pointing her bony finger,
at the chair.

She sits,
stares,
and then unstares,
watches  them walk off,
the tall one
with the features of a doll,
that doll she had as a child,
the one she slammed
against a wall,
and it broke
as she went wild.

Some days the voices
say little,
some days they
never stop,
they want things,
to do things,
to say things,
to walk across the ward
and spit at the woman
who sits,
and talks to herself,
and dribbles,
and licks it up.

O Eve,
she says,
the nurse,
the fat one,
the one with an arse
like a horse,
be quiet,
and don't stare so,
but Eve just eyes her,
stares and unstares,
passes wind,
screws up her nose.

O Eve,
you are a one,
the horse nurse says,
going on her way
to elsewhere,
and Eve sits,
and stares,
and doesn't care.