<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Echoes<\/strong><\/p>\n in nuclear medicine, corridors like infinity mirrors. Echoes of doors slamming, a clatter of crutches; I sit awake, refuse faith since the ground gave way, they splinter, curse, a kaleidoscope of happenings. I fear electrodes, matchsticks under my lids. I swallow a valium; and the heartbeat slows, my breathing slows, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Patrick Wright<\/strong> has been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize. Poems from his chapbook, Nullaby,<\/em> have been published in several magazines, most recently Agenda, The Reader, <\/em>and London Grip.<\/em> He teaches Creative Writing at The Open University.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Echoes in nuclear medicine, corridors like infinity mirrors. Everything screams off silver surfaces, lift doors, gurneys, forks in the refectory. I\u2019m there early. Before visiting hours, smokers in slippers mingle by ambulances. I follow echoes, lurch past nurses. In triage, invalids clasp eye patches, vomit in papier-m\u00e2ch\u00e9. Echoes of doors slamming, a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-14553","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14553","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14553"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14553\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15003,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14553\/revisions\/15003"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14553"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14553"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14553"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nEverything screams off silver surfaces, lift doors, gurneys,
\nforks in the refectory. I\u2019m there early.
\nBefore visiting hours, smokers in slippers mingle
\nby ambulances. I follow echoes, lurch past nurses.
\nIn triage, invalids clasp eye patches, vomit in papier-m\u00e2ch\u00e9.<\/p>\n
\nthe chaplain\u2019s picture in the prayer room (he gave
\nher funeral), an omen of the same shit recurring
\n(sunlight on her face, I tried to make it permanent;
\ntears on her arm, watching them flow like rivers;
\npushing the emergency alarm, no one running).<\/p>\n
\na trapdoor to a place beyond all hope, metaphysics.
\nConsultants, not consultants, assassins; the chaplain,
\nnot a chaplain, the Reaper; things, things, full of layers …
\nUpstairs, a scan rules out a cyst, anything benign.
\nMy mind\u2019s haywire, a glitter-ball. Each facet, valid;<\/p>\n
\nTwo time zones, concertinaed, a kind of shell shock
\n(mother in her wheelchair, billiousness, daffodils).
\nSynapses fire. Amygdala out of sync thinks
\nI\u2019m war torn, a sniper\u2019s crosshairs on my temple;
\nor better, Russian roulette in my head. The cylinder rolls …<\/p>\n
\nI vent my rage on inanimate things,
\nlash out, brake my hand on a bin, livid at the stars, providence.
\nIt doesn\u2019t exist, though even now a vestige of belief.
\nUpstairs a syringe finds the surest vein. She sleeps, hangs on.
\nA monitor bleeps. My love,<\/p>\n
\nsweat dissolves, the dizziness, shaking slows. No more echoes
\n(the chair\u2019s just a chair to sit upon, the nurses
\nare just healers, the chaplain, just a chaplain,
\nand daffodils, in the communal garden, just flowers
\nwhich bow and waver).<\/p>\n