To shed the outer layer,
of devolving turbulence.
A mindful stance of the rotating
cogs in a filtered existence.
Wheels turn …
moving without lubrication
Being placed on a table.
Electrodes placed at tender temples,
sending fire throughout the body.
Altered for existence.
Process notes:
This prompt made think about ES therapy.
My mom worked as an RN supervisor.
In a psychiatric hospital for several years,
in a NY state institution. At that time
this form of therapy was legal. I am
quite mortified that it was ever legal.
Red Wolf Journal Spring 2014, and a fresh start
10 years ago
My ex's older brother underwent EST in the late 50's, poor soul, just because he was sexually non conforming. Yeah, that's one messed up family.
ReplyDeletePamela:
ReplyDeleteVery profound contemplation of a sad fact of our history. It definitely makes me think...in fact, it makes me want to write.
Thanks,
Shari
Your well expressed poem certainly captures the horror of ES therapy. I too find it hard to imagine this was EVER allowed / thought beneficial.
ReplyDeleteA very inspirational poem in honor of your mother. I wonder how many nurses we were raised by. My mother was an ER nurse.
ReplyDeleteeveryday goddess it is a horrid thing to have done to people. I think it is still legal in Florida.
ReplyDeletePamela
Shari,
ReplyDeleteIt is indeed a horrible part of our history.
I am glad that you are inspired to write.
I look forward to reading your work.
Pamela
Mary,
ReplyDeleteThanks and it is beyond me that it was ever thought to be therapeutic. When my mom told me the stories I just wanted to cry.
Pamela
Diane,
ReplyDeleteWas she really? My mom was an awesome, strong and talented lady. I miss her so much.
Pamela
This could be termed a horror story: but you succeeded in turning it into very real poetry.
ReplyDeleteyour poem is superb.
ReplyDeletelove the phrases you applied here.
lovely message.
Viv,
ReplyDeleteJust imagine the horror for the person that goes through that. Thanks for the comment.
Pamela
Jingle thanks.
ReplyDeletePamela