Dream and Restoration
Nearly thirty years ago, when you were 19, a breakdown. Seven months in hospital; ECT, and twenty-one pills a day and, once a week, the therapist. For about twenty minutes. Mostly the two of you sat in silence, and you listened to the wind rattling the window, and watched. ‘I don’t ask questions’, he said. ‘I only get pat answers.’ One day you recited a poem you had written, just after your break-down. ‘Always watching myself, I’ it began. ‘It came alive then’, he said. But so far as you recall, only that once.
KeywordsCoherence Bide Tame Prose
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