Sunday was visiting day
the day when briefly
as the visitors arrived

the locked ward
was unlocked
nurses on edge

eyes on the doors
patients on beds
or in chair

in the lounge
drugged up
or not so

depending on mood
or demons or how
far down

the deep pit
they’d gone
you can’t recall

Christine’s visitors
can’t remember
anyone there

but your mother
came through
the unlocked doors

carry smiles
and pinned in concerns
soft voice

smelling of perfume
or fresh air coming in
standing there

then sitting in the chair
by the bed
handing over sweets

or books or wash stuff
conversations
of how are you?

and what’s the food like?
are you feeling better?
were noted

and exchanged
your mother worried
lines on her face

in her eyes
swan deep concern
you saw Christine

over the way
standing by the window
looking out

then by the doors
waiting
arms folded

her nightgown
held tight
about her

her slipped feet touching
then the visitation over
the visitors gone home

the doors locked
the ward quiet
the patients subdued

staring into space
or at each other
gazing

into eyes
as blank as each others
depression deeper

nurses doing rounds
giving out drugs
listening acutely

to souls in torment
with their sad
silent sounds.