The Poet Community

Hospital Sill | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

“On the sill today
the sun’s pure white.
Usually it’s gold,”
says Nell, propped
in a smock,
all frills,

sipping tea
turning cold
as she braids
white ram
horns of hair
high and tight

to the sides
of her skull.
“On the gold days
like this I warm
my hands for hours
at a time on this sill.

the doctor said
someone should
paint me.
A still life
that’s what he said.”


The Poet Community is completely reader supported, please help me keep it going.

Have you read Guy Farmer's social justice poetry book now available on Amazon?

Read poems by Guy Farmer on this site.