The Weight of Words

The Emma Fulham Poetry Book Appeal

From Chapter 1 - The Beginnings of the Illness

'The Expert' by Jasmine

The room is blue,
A Monet print hangs above the desk,
A musty smell lingers in the air.

‘Do you mind if I light a cigarette?’
‘No,’ I say.

But I do.

My bottom perches on the edge of the chair,
Like a naughty parrot who’s pulled out its feathers.

‘So what’s been happening?’
Is that medical language?
‘I make myself sick’, I say,
‘So does that make me mad?’
He laughs.
‘No madder than the rest of us’.
I search his blue eyes for signs of insanity.
My eyes flick across the room,
The experts room.
I’ve never met a psychiatrist before,
Not sure what to expect.

My parents wait downstairs,
‘Jeeeesus!’ Dad says
Seeing skeleton No.3 wheeled past.
He doesn’t say much, the specialist.
No profound words of wisdom.
He bites his nails, like a contemplative gerbil.
I’m missing Netball for him!

How dearly I’d hoped for a quick half-hour cure.
Perhaps that’s in the second appointment

Jasmine