Serenity

I named her Serenity,
since her quasi-gentle presence
lightened my darkest times.
Back then she reigned over the living room
and I shared my pain with her.
She never spoke or even sighed, yet
yet it soothed me
to make-believe she empathised.
When my situation improved, I faced the truth:
if I pricked her skin,
it would not bleed.
Her hollow chest was cold, and I
was tired of her indifference.
Yet I wrapped a coat around her shoulders
before showing her the door.
She blanked me, her head
lacking think-matter,
so I consigned her to the bathroom.
These days she belies her name;
guests leap in shock; some even blurt
a strangled scream
to see my mannequin standing guard by my toilet bowl.
She fails to make THEM feel serene.

Written for Godoggocafe’s Tuesday Writing Prompt: Serenity – I couldn’t resist it, since I have a mannequin called Serenity. They recommend that the piece should be written in 10-15 minutes, so I haven’t polished it up.

©Jane Paterson Basil

SERENITY

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Serenity sits in the corner of my living room, always well dressed and immaculate. Silently she gazes unseeing towards the cracked mirror on the opposite wall.

She doesn’t hear the manic muttering or the frenzied shouting of my daughter, high on a drug which has again sent her scuttling into psychosis.

She is blind to the scrabbling scuffle as to keep my sanity, I have to push Tammy out through the front door.

She doesn’t engage in the conversation when the police arrive with their kindly questions, reassurance and advice.

But she is there and when they leave, her passive peacefulness washes over me, making me calmer, wordlessly reminding me that to her, the mirror is not cracked and nothing is broken.

Serenity, wearing my cast-off clothes and shoes. Serenity, my beautiful statuesque mannequin.

© Jane Paterson Basil