The schizophrenic girl twists off a turkey leg <br />then scoops a spoon-full of corn onto her plate. <br /> <br />Her hair is a black brain of braids, <br />her voice slow and mechanical <br />as if she’s reading from flash cards <br />pinned on the wall of her skull. <br /> <br />She’s convinced someone’s planted microphones <br />in each yellow kernel of corn. <br />I sit with her while she eats, watch her smash <br />each yellow kernel with the tines of her fork. <br /> <br />Surely, on Christmas Day, it’s the least I can do, <br />to join her, briefly, in her disease, <br />holding each yellow tooth of corn between my fingers, <br />smiling as I snap each tiny yellow mouth shut.<br /><br />Chris Tusa<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-in-the-psych-ward/
