Although this ward is not a holy city I realize I’m attending Sunday mass. To my surprise, I do not find self-pity, Delusions, or what woes may come to pass. My clouds are lifting; what is this, a tear? Shed for Black Jesus in a comic book, And what is this? My mind begins to clear As staff returns the clothing they had took. While dressed in gowns, they had me looking rough, Dressed as I’m now, I’m relatively sane, There is a ways to go, but sane enough A fellow patient chooses to exclaim, Because my changing proves her point of view: “O Lord have mercy, look what church can do!”
Robert Donohue’s poetry has appeared in Grand Little Things, Better Than Starbucks, The Raintown Review, The Ekphrastic Review, among others. He lives on Long Island, NY.
Amethyst Review 