Welcome back to part two of revisiting older projects and giving them new life! To refresh, and directly quote my last post: “A couple years ago I decided to dive into my old files and re-invigorate some of my first poems. So far, this has gone a couple different ways and I want to highlight both those evolutions.”
I started with my experience of expanding on what was already there. If you missed that post, find it here:
https://littlegirlpoetry.blog/2025/01/30/an-example-of-accepting-growth-as-a-writer-part-one/
The other direction I found myself taking is a true re-imagining. Basically, I liked the original idea – the base concept – but I didn’t feel that expounding the detail would bring the life that it needed. With the example poems you’ll see this time, the base concept was hospitals; and I’ll be blunt here – I had no clue where it was going when I started. Last time, the poem basically stayed the same, so I kept the title. This time, it became something else entirely, and I will let you know it’s even longer than the last one, so buckle up for the ride!
The poem referenced here is called “Hospitals”
Nothing is scarier than a loved one in danger,
Or to entrust their life into the hands of a stranger.
Not knowing how they’re doing, worrying starts;
Praying every night God won’t break your hearts.
A slight increase in health lets you breathe a bit more.
You realize for now Death’s not knocking on your door.
Then complications arise and again you can’t breathe.
You finally realize this person might not leave.
Death is knocking again, louder than before.
It feels like your blood is draining to the floor.
You cling to hope, you pray they live.
You bargain with God, “What can I give?”
When you get the “all clear” you can smile again,
Because you know everything will be good till the end.
Nothing compares to the relief you feel
Finally reaching the day it’s real.
“Let’s Explore Your Thoughts on Cruel & Unusual Punishment”
A story told in senses: Sight, Sound, Touch, Taste, Smell, and arguably most important – Intuition.
You see the building, an imposing structure of
steel and concrete, from the outside cold and lifeless;
and when you enter find it no different.
For all the windows and natural light in the reception and
waiting area, there is an alarming lack of life in the space.
Not for want of effort, though,
as there are paintings (more likely prints to be honest) dotting the walls –
which are clearly different, but somehow look exactly the same.
The eerie similarities continue to the staff.
It could be the sea of blue scrubs, where the lack of uniqueness is
interrupted by the brief glimpse of pink or floral patterns.
Or perhaps the missing faces.
Long noses, crooked teeth, beauty marks, and all other defining features
hidden by masks – making every face the same.
As your eyes adjust to the
unnaturally white fluorescent lighting, you are suddenly
startled by a voice. Only then do you realize that until
the receptionist spoke in that oddly
bright tone, no sound had permeated the air.
Why must all waiting rooms be profoundly silent?
You join the quiet crowd to
wait for your name to be called, trying not to squirm on the
stiff, tweed fabric of the chairs while you
thumb through a magazine from last year.
All the while, trying (and failing) to suppress the creeping anxiety.
Again, the oppressive silence encroaches, broken only
by a ringing phone, or the cadence of a name.
When you finally leave the lifeless room, your nose is
assaulted by the scent of CLEAN.
You know the one, all chemicals and bleach and antiseptic.
The air even has a mild taste of it, apart from being so
cold it hurts your teeth.
And now your eyes must adjust to the stark white of the walls, and the
glistening shine of stainless steel.
You are nowhere near the hub of activity but swear you can hear
wheels squeaking in a nearby hall, and the
sharp beeping of monitors behind closed doors.
In fact, there is so little activity in this area that
it feels as though time has stopped.
A dull stillness, no doubt the essence of waiting
leaking in through the silent room of before, surrounds you as you walk.
Turning into your assigned room, you
wait to be instructed on where to sit.
Neither option is ideal, but you hope they point to the tweed covered chair
and not the bed.
Your relief is palpable as you try not to let the rough seat
touch your skin, but you know your respite will be brief.
After the uncomfortable small talk and
niceties exchanged during vitals, you are left alone to change into your
ever-so-fashionable open-backed gown.
Even covered, you feel utterly exposed.
The waiting this time feels different. It is tinged with
dread, and unease toward the impending interaction.
It does not help that there is nothing to look at this time.
After what feels like hours, a new person
enters the room and, as you feared, directs you to the raised platform.
The crinkle of the paper covering is alarmingly
loud to your ears, and you try to get comfortable
without disturbing it further.
You have no such luck.
The metal tools on your bare skin feel like
knives, but you grit your teeth and somehow survive the torturous experience.
Further niceties are exchanged in a
stiff, awkward way that does not match the
intimacy of what so recently occurred.
You are left with no more answers than you arrived with, and for the last time
are left alone to attempt to regain your dignity.
Trying not to feel like a teenager sneaking out without
permission, you venture out to return from whence you came.
A momentary pause to get your bearings and
reverse the order of turns from earlier.
The lobby sign is now in sight, and you restrain yourself from running out the doors,
but your pace is definitively more brisk.
Knowing and thankful that you are not scheduling a
follow-up, you scurry past the receptionist desk and toward the true exit.
Reaching the parking lot, you take a deep breath in, grateful to
smell and taste freshness, rather than
artificial cleanliness, and head to your car, thinking to yourself:
“Another year down.”
Analysis
Is anyone else sensing a theme so far? If it isn’t clear, when I first started writing poetry, I really thought it all had to rhyme, and I almost exclusively wrote in couplet rhyme scheme with four line stanzas. *ENTER FREE VERSE* My eyes flew open to the possibilities and I basically never looked back. Now I’m rethinking that, but I still hold so much love for the free verse form.
But outside that, do you see what I mean about how it took on an entirely new life? Unless you knew (and now you all know) that the second one started as a redux of the first, you wouldn’t connect the two outside of the generic theme of “hospital.” But I don’t know that I would have written that second poem had I not revisited the original!
Your Turn
I’m done tooting my own horn, so I’d like to throw it out to y’all. What stood out to you from this revisit? What would you have done differently? Which did you connect with more? What did each poem make you feel?
Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me – so let’s not forget to have fun through all this voluntarily assigned homework, yeah?
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