“The Front”
It moved in one afternoon…
the front, bringing a warmth
they had forgotten somehow
but just to the living room.
Had a window been left open?
A door? It reminded me of
beach days, warm days
filled with so much activity,
so much movement
Uncomfortable in most settings
but not on those days,
And not in this living room.
On the other side of a wall
The winds blew,
blew fairly strong
then dropped to a bare breath,
a whisper.
There was no fan in this room,
a bedroom. No window open.
It appeared the winds
came up on their own
unannounced
originating from a picture
in a frame on a dresser,
or a lone box under a bed.
A movement, a stirring,
a need to be noticed, felt,
an uncomfortable surprise of change.
They drew the picture frames closer,
closer to the edge of the dresser,
out from behind what blocked them
And pulled the lone box into view.
Betsy Fisher is a mother, writer, and champion of Arts in Medicine. During her time as a caregiver to her son, Marshal, she wrote from her point of view about Marshal’s experiences in a healthcare setting where the arts and healthcare often intersected. This collection is based on her journal entries.
Special thanks to AIM writer in residence Andrew Hix for serving as blog editor for this collection.
Read more by Betsy: Artist’s Journals