INTENSIFICATION
Dark brown corridors and lanes of pealing
people - noise, wailing, and the chatter of
an odd enlistment. All this was somewhere
I had to be : Greystone, it was called.
-
Campus-like, its forested gladness bore nothing
but a sadness; bereft of honor, the face put forward
was a false effort of mirth : this is where crazy people
languished and died. A strange, brooding Victorian
building looked down on young me as I walked.
-
At eight years old, as well as at eighty. As a young
boy, myself not a member just a visitor. At the other
end of that spectrum, an old relative, each visit, just
sat : we tried everything - picnic and song and food
and laughter, but nothing ever worked. Even the most
strong sunlight, blazing down on that picnic field,
went for naught as nothing ever broke through.
-
And then, just like that, I vaguely recall, we buried
her; memories, presence, strangeness and all.
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