Poetry by Anna Maughan

      Vincent Parsons CC




Visiting Hours

Once I’d arrived, I could not leave alone.
 
My door was opened every 15 minutes 
to check this wounded creature  
hadn't found a bloody means of escape.
 
The two of you came with your unwilling dad, 
who leaned away from loving me 
as if I were something rotten.
 
I was made of paper, hiding the torn edges
with a storybook façade. 
 
You tumbled together, brightly 
in the serene, sunny garden 
as if everything were normal. 
 
My arms were made just to hold you.
 
When we returned to the family visiting hall, 
I showed you some of the yoga I’d learnt:
happy baby pose. The three of us on our backs, 
bent legs skyward, rocking, laughing –
 
more laughter than that austere room 
had ever known. It looked on, nonplussed, 
smelling faintly of Mr Sheen and boiled vegetables.
 
I'd been brought the only treasure in the world 
worth anything to me, golden, brim-full
of an untarnished future. 
 
Even a place like this was alive with you. 
And you couldn't stay. I couldn't leave.

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Anna Maughan believes in the redemptive power of hope and the importance of open and honest discourse around the subject of mental health. Her writing is informed by her own struggles with C/PTSD as well as chronic pain and illness. Her kids have saved her life countless times.
 
Anna has been published by Human Obscura, Dust, Free Verse Revolution, Ink Sweat and Tears and Wild Roof Journal, amongst others.
 
www.basementofmybrain.co.uk
insta: basement_of_my_brain
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