Poem of the Week: “When the Lunatics Arise” by Bonnie Schell
Excerpt:
The nameless dead ascend, limp forward then soar, breaking through the thin clouds.
They rise, shouting their full names into the skies.
And drift from numbered body to body whispering, “It is safe. It is safe.”
Shackled, sterilized, lobotomized, now upright the strangers stand, meet and greet their peers
From across the land – 300,000 acres – of public asylums and state hospitals.
From deep valleys they arise, levitating above the priests with their liturgies of exorcism,
And the doctors with their Diagnostic and Statistical Manuals.
They run up the hills and are not weary. They fly and do not tire or fall.
Look up! Open your SUV and condo windows. Crook your neck and see!
All the shunned ones, missing from scrapbooks, removed from Ancestry trees,
All the ones who swallowed secrets, stuttered, became silent
All the ones never invited to the weddings, graduations, birthdays, bar mitzvahs, and death beds, Deprived of connection, now say “Hello you.”
Read the full poem here: https://www.madinamerica.com/2024/10/when-lunatics-arise-bonnie-schell/

