Pink Colored Halls
It’s been three weeks since I’ve gotten to write.
Three weeks since I got on a plane
and went home to Houston
to find my mother half-naked in the den
flashing me her bottom.
We dragged her into the car
and drove her to the hospital
where my sister sat on her
so they could take her blood sugar levels
and give her an I.V.
One psyche unit,
two doctors,
and an MRI later,
we still don’t know what’s wrong with her.
At the psyche ward,
she ate tough looking Salisbury steak
and macaroni and cheese on a Styrofoam plate
and seemed almost normal,
compared to the other patients
who walked up and down the pink colored halls
talking to themselves
and cursing their imaginary strangers.
I thought to myself
this is what crazy is.
Not what I have.
What I have is just neurosis.
A mind game
I play with myself.
This here,
this is crazy.
A shade of pink
I never want to see
again.
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