The Unspoken

The Unspoken


The psychiatrist asks, of my father,
“Are you happy?” … trying to assess
his mental state.  “You’re not depressed?
You’ve had a stroke, and I know that after
that there would be adjustments.  Have you felt
a sorrow at no longer being able to do
the things you did?”  Dad stares, a puzzled furrow…
“Are you sad, Keith?” says Mum, trying to help,
gently rubbing her hand on his bruised arm.
The psychiatrist persists:  “Do you feel you’ve done
all that you wanted?  When you look back on
life, there’s nothing of which you’re ashamed?”

Silence drifts softly as a curled feather,
Settles like stone between myself and my mother.



(c) Marilyn Arnold