the mind: “The quieter you become the more you can hear”
between the eyebrows
a third eye
center of energy full
the drum quiets to a mere hymn, a hymn…hmmmh…OM
that connects her and Him
she closes her eyes, focuses
as the ocean waves approach to embrace
her and recede just as quickly
like the crinkles of worry on her forehead
it is always ourselves we find in the sea.
what you’d find buried in the dirt under mercy hospital (gilbert, arizona)
pink. “It’s a girl!” discarded
after a miscarriage. hollow. like the crying mother’s
crumpled prescription slips for the same drugs issued before
they still don’t work. worthless.
nurse uniforms that reek of latex gloves. rusty blood. and
expired free meal vouchers from family members tired
of eating cold pizza in the cold cafeteria.
a worn out rosemary bead necklace once strung
on a strong necklace as strong as the woman’s faith who prayed for her wounded boy.
the beads are b r o ken. the woman’s faith? is not. praying
night and day
crushed sleeping pills from the emergency doctor’s pockets
couldn’t leave the emotional turmoil of his night shift in the e.r.
brought it home with him
a wristwatch that stopped working.
after a surgical resident pronounced his first patient dead.
time of death 2:19. but her mangled body looks so serene.
index cards outlining stroke treatment procedure. blankets crocheted by grandmas. grey chairs matching the drab
waiting room walls. flower bouquets from the store
a faded mother teresa portrait
eyes still shining. bright. with love.
and the makeshift plastic volunteer shift leader badge
that i once donned with a sense of pride
i couldn’t explain.
Gayatri Sadachar is a huge neuroscience nerd and a women's rights activist in the making. She's just a brown girl with big dreams who loves to dance, read and bookmark multiple cooking blogs (even though she knows she's too lazy to try the recipes). Her Friday evenings consist of endless laughs with family and a mug filled with her brother's famous chai.