WALKING THE HALLS OF CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL

Look at me, walking outside of my body.

I try to name it: “FEAR,”

hoping once acknowledged, it will leave.

But fear is brilliant:

It doesn’t care if I name it or not.

It has all the time in the world

to question, to imagine, to shatter

PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING.

It knows each crack and entry-point.

When I run into the bathroom to hide

it fogs up the mirrors with panic, so 

I keep walking,

if you can call it that.

I keep moving—

until my body has driven itself home.

Which now doesn’t seem like home.

I keep not knowing what to do—

and find myself in a bathroom, again.

I lift a ridiculous lipstick to the mirror

and I begin to write.

Saskia Kidd (Summer 2012 / edited Summer 2021)

Dedicated to my brave and inspiring son.