First came pudding -
a pale and wobbling
plastic spoon.
He called her sweetheart,
his voice all sugar and orderlies.
The air was lemon and bleach,
so clean it hurt.
She tried to thank him,
but the words caught -
a wing in her throat.
He said, let me help you sleep.
The lights dimmed,
and the walls leaned closer,
listening.
Inside her chest,
a river began to drown itself.
Trust-white-silk-
pulled through a needle's eye,
then tore through her.
Later, the bed whispered
betrayal,
the monitors blinked
like eyes that looked away.
Her skin forgot
what safety was like.
Days unraveled,
voices muffled behind curtains,
yellow flowers dying in paper cups.
Each night,
his ghost rearranged her
dreams.
Then the long quiet -
years measured in therapy
rooms.
In trembling mornings,
learning to touch her own hands
without flinching,
She stitched her soul
with invisible thread
she built a cathedral
from her breath.
Now when she walks past
hospitals,
windows blink in shame.
Her pulse once hijacked -
beats in protest, steady, whole,
She tastes pudding again
one night,
just to prove she can.
It' only vanilla.
It's only sweet.
The room only remembers
him.
Mirror to My Soul by Heather Mirassou
A personal blog sharing heartfelt poetry inspired by nature, beauty, and soulful reflection.
Discover more from Mirror to My Soul by Heather Mirassou
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
11 responses to “Patient No. 47 – by Heather Mirassou”
-
Very, very striking Heather.
It requires patience to fully appreciate its nuance. Anything that can make us pause for a second is valuable.
The imagery is powerful and solemn. It elevates the “everydayness” of the subject mattter into art.
Very cool.
Very good.LikeLike
-
Dom, it is a true story. One I will never forget. Thank you so much for your kind comments.
LikeLike
-
-
Thank you so much humbly.
LikeLike
-
Gah. Heather, this is quite simply stunning.
THIS is a visual I’m gonna carry with me for a long while:
“but the words caught –
a wing in her throat.”And OH, these lines:
“she built a cathedral
from her breath.”This is the most breathtaking piece I’ve read in quite some time. Whew.
-
Thank you so much, that really means a lot to me from a wonderful poet like yourself.
LikeLike
-
-
I feel privileged to hear your story. Its quite wonderful how you communicate it with such grace and eloquence. Its poetry doing its proper job. Well done.
LikeLike
-
This was supposed to reply to your comment above (below?).
But I’m sure you get what I mean :)LikeLike
-
-
Yes Dom. Thank you so much.
LikeLike
-
Heather…. it’s achingly – beautiful (sounds wrong 😬) but you have expressed it so ….
“She stitched her soul
with invisible thread
she built a cathedral
from her breath….” …🌷🤍🌷LikeLike
-
-
hugs, Heather… 🤍🙏🤗
LikeLike
-
-
Mirror to My Soul by Heather Mirassou 
Leave a reply to destiny Cancel reply