I didn’t catch his face,

just the machete slash glint

inches away,

pendulum cuts spurting sap, polka dotting,

my mattress,

cold sweat thawing through bolt upright

nape hairs,

shards of bamboo splinter in my hair,

eyes streaming,

as fathomless whoops, wails and buzzes recede behind

feather memories, flapping through the bars in my head.

 

Finally a cloak drapes the parrot cage.

Silence.

 

Days, weeks, nights later,

the blackboard fingernail scrape of a voice in the dark,

chops air outside my door,

Ciaran the jolly Irish orderly flicks the lock,

thrusts my three strong Librium pot,

whistles ‘how are you?’

turns on the light

turns off tremor world.