Ward

by Mark Katrinak

Image credit: Dmytro Glazunov on Unsplash

Someone lonely competing for my soul

finds entrance to my dreams and generates

disturbances within those lucid images

disintegrating into incubus....

Father Malachi, capable of exorcising

spirits, is nowhere near this sterile ward.

He is a little worn, it’s true. Four nights

of patience, threats; maintenance men last night

must have replaced the broken windowpane. 

Is that a scream emerging down the corridor?

or tremors of a scream reverberating,

a quiver in my mind, a quill or two

penetrating exactly where my zero is? 

There’s no one in this room besides myself,

and yet I hear a conversation going on

beside my bed. “Herbal tea? Why, thank you.”

A little chamomile, perhaps, will put

uneasiness on pause as stoppage by the breezes

puts leaves at ease or eases ripples in a stream.

To close, or not to close my eyes at night

remains a question for my sanity,

a subject predicated on revolving doors

within the confines of eternity.

I cannot lock those entrances where REM

resides, where an evil spirit slides and makes

itself at home and adds its darkness to the loose

repository of my weary soul.

***

Mark Katrinak

Mark Katrinak has a chapbook, “Blue Meridian,” forthcoming from Kelsay Books. He has had poems published in Bayou, Southwestern American Literature, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Lullwater Review, Pinyon, The Opiate, Pensive, Poetry for Mental Health, and other literary publications. Originally from Cleveland, Ohio, Mark is now a resident of Golden Valley, AZ. When not working for a mental health agency, he enjoys birds, cats, fine wine, and spending time with his family.