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Admissions
In 1864, the doors of the West Virginia Hospital for the Insane opened in Weston, West Virginia. Although medical records have not been accessed, titles for the poems in this collection reflect the exact reasons for admission as inscribed in the first logbook used at the hospital from October 22, 1864, to December 12, 1889.
106 pages, Paperback
First published January 15, 2013
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March 14, 2018
We are the publisher, so all of our authors get five stars from us. Excerpts:
DESERTION BY HUSBAND
W. Va. Hospital for the Insane
Name: Hattie Wyatt
Admitted: 12 January, 1873
My ring on the floor,
spring rain plays a wedding waltz
as the tin roof leaks.
By lamplight shadow,
his enframed tintype glowers.
I shorten the wick.
Six children, one room.
Asleep, the youngest whimpers.
Cursed the fruit of womb!
Alone, I hunt the brute
with the pistol he forgot.
Only one bullet.
Grave consequences.
In the asylum, I sew
quilts from widow’s weeds.
MEDICINE TO PREVENT CONCEPTION
W. Va. Hospital for the Insane
Name: Danny Moser
Admitted: 14 February, 1880
Like poison ivy it grows, a contagion
in the belly of my sweetheart,
Polly, too young for motherhood,
her Paw, too itchy on the trigger,
too good a shot.
For deliverance we pray
to a God who prefers creation.
We watch for a sign.
Polly starts to show.
To weed our Garden of Eden
I beg a one-eyed peddler,
the self-proclaimed savior of Shiloh.
He offers the cure for a double eagle.
I offer half and Daddy’s war revolver.
Sucking on a peppermint stick,
he slides a bottle in my hand
cold as a creek trout, his smile,
like a cur’s, one whiskered lip raised,
revealing the glint of a silver tooth.
He whispers, "Cures all. Tells none."
Lonely as stars we lie awake.
At sunrise, in an abandoned barn,
the blue bottle swaddles in Polly’s hands,
the liquid, thick as whitewash.
Like a baby rattle, her hands shake.
We kiss. She drinks.
On straw, foul with ancient afterbirth
we wait. Through weathered barn boards
sunrays dribble like a leaky churn.
A cock crows.
Polly grabs her stomach,
aching like a thousand catfights.
She throws up, her eyes roll back,
and she screams like her time come.
Like a bride over the threshold,
I carry Polly’s body
to her Paw’s parlor, her face
white as mother’s milk,
his tears, unanswered prayers,
my mind broken, beyond repair,
like a horse with a fractured leg.
___
To prevent me from committing
the Judas-sin in this asylum,
they hog-tie me in a straightjacket.
For hours I rock like a baby.
But I am a patient spider.
From this web I have woven,
I am determined to hang.
DESERTION BY HUSBAND
W. Va. Hospital for the Insane
Name: Hattie Wyatt
Admitted: 12 January, 1873
My ring on the floor,
spring rain plays a wedding waltz
as the tin roof leaks.
By lamplight shadow,
his enframed tintype glowers.
I shorten the wick.
Six children, one room.
Asleep, the youngest whimpers.
Cursed the fruit of womb!
Alone, I hunt the brute
with the pistol he forgot.
Only one bullet.
Grave consequences.
In the asylum, I sew
quilts from widow’s weeds.
MEDICINE TO PREVENT CONCEPTION
W. Va. Hospital for the Insane
Name: Danny Moser
Admitted: 14 February, 1880
Like poison ivy it grows, a contagion
in the belly of my sweetheart,
Polly, too young for motherhood,
her Paw, too itchy on the trigger,
too good a shot.
For deliverance we pray
to a God who prefers creation.
We watch for a sign.
Polly starts to show.
To weed our Garden of Eden
I beg a one-eyed peddler,
the self-proclaimed savior of Shiloh.
He offers the cure for a double eagle.
I offer half and Daddy’s war revolver.
Sucking on a peppermint stick,
he slides a bottle in my hand
cold as a creek trout, his smile,
like a cur’s, one whiskered lip raised,
revealing the glint of a silver tooth.
He whispers, "Cures all. Tells none."
Lonely as stars we lie awake.
At sunrise, in an abandoned barn,
the blue bottle swaddles in Polly’s hands,
the liquid, thick as whitewash.
Like a baby rattle, her hands shake.
We kiss. She drinks.
On straw, foul with ancient afterbirth
we wait. Through weathered barn boards
sunrays dribble like a leaky churn.
A cock crows.
Polly grabs her stomach,
aching like a thousand catfights.
She throws up, her eyes roll back,
and she screams like her time come.
Like a bride over the threshold,
I carry Polly’s body
to her Paw’s parlor, her face
white as mother’s milk,
his tears, unanswered prayers,
my mind broken, beyond repair,
like a horse with a fractured leg.
___
To prevent me from committing
the Judas-sin in this asylum,
they hog-tie me in a straightjacket.
For hours I rock like a baby.
But I am a patient spider.
From this web I have woven,
I am determined to hang.
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