we go against our will.
small
brick houses
along the roads.
a cheerless
path leading up to the door
where
the storm door hangs on rusted hinges.
it's here
that they wheel you in.
call you by
your first name, as if they
know you.
it's here
where someone will play
the piano, out of key.
where the dinner will ring
and feed you food
you won't remember.
it's here in this place
where your room will be.
a picture on the wall.
the curtains hung
coming up short against the sill.
there will be a stranger
with a needle, a pan. a cup
of water
put towards your lips
as you
try to breathe. they will smile
as if you are
a small child. and then
it will come to you,
that
the circle is complete.
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