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Stations (poem)

Things I loved before I shut myself away:
That bench, where the tips of trees scratched the sky,
The hospital, grey as a prison,
Where I traced
The tangled knitting of the brain.
That stained glass window,
Those flowers.
When they shaved my head
I felt free.

© Tabitha Potts

This poem was created to accompany an artwork for an exhibition by Cheli Mula at Vout O’Reenees. The photo is courtesy of Sankar.