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.