I check myself into the hospital for someone to talk to, somewhere to sleep. I can't be trusted with my own shoelaces. White rooms help me to relax. They remind me of my parents' bedroom in the early morning, where, in front of a cheval mirror I was taught to loop, swoop, and pull. But not too tight. Not so tight that they couldn't be undone.
About the author:
Ravi Mangla lives in Fairport, NY. His poetry has appeared in the Tipton Poetry Journal and Boston Literary Magazine. He keeps a blog at ravimangla.blogspot.com.
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