The Threshold
19th May2023

Shhhhhhh-k.

Here,
on this side of the threshold,
…here there is grey flecked linoleum,
here there is the smell of antiseptic cleaning fluids,
and dark blues and whites, with bits of red,
that move amongst the machines,
and the machines,
…they are on wheels,
everything here is on wheels,
and there are electrical cords,
and plugs,
and tubes,
that twist, and wind across floors,
that are suspended alongside beds,
searching for walls,
with which to connect,
and the beds are on wheels too,
did I mention everything here is on wheels,
…it is transient,
all of it,
and the wheels run across the threshold,
that one that cuts off the other realities,
the other realities that were,
that delineate the shattered lives,
on this side,
from that,
from their pasts,
from normality,
from who they were before the accident,
and when those shattered lives,
(and the people they belong to),
are wheeled in,
they leave entrails of smells,
…sometimes they are sickly sweet smells, like blood,
…or pervasive, like urine,
or bluntening, like shit,
sometimes it is screams and yelling,
or worse yet whimpers,
whimpers that are quietening,
and sometimes it is a shocking silence,
with nothing,
…but footsteps,
and wheels,
and the sounds of efficient caring,
of people doing their jobs,
good people,
in difficult circumstances,
working in spaces alongside the nothingness,
that we find confronting,
good people walking the unstable edges of darkness,
that we in the real world rarely get to experience,
caring for the physical bodies that hold those shattered lives,
and all of it,
is on wheels,
transient,
In this other worldly place,
revolving alongside of us,
spinning …in space.

Inspiration: Watching an episode of
Paramedics and recalling times in
hospital.

Spilled Rubbish,
Johnston Street,
Melbourne.