The Institution

Above, Below
Above, below
I grew up here
I was born very near
My life has been filled with reed
While the outside world is filled with greed
Though I would not know
I never go.

Above, Below
Above, below
Picture this if you wish
The beginnings of a wicker dish
Seamless weaves from the hands of a child
Her life is mundane, attitude is mild
I would know
Never go.

My mother was disturbed they tell me,
Her condition is hereditary.
She spent the rest of life here
Never knowing I was growing.

They call this place the institution
Linoleum floors and light pollution
Padded walls and wicker baskets
Always weaving, still deceiving

I have never known another season
Have never seen trees in a breeze
When my mother was taken the institution was vacant
Little did they know she was also pregnant

That’s where I come in
The child twining baskets
For the institution had no toys
For little girls and boys

They were never meant to be here
To survive an environment this severe
Though we get a new one every year

The problems come in time of need
And ours is a covetous breed
Drives us into dirty deeds

The doctors realized they could sell our baskets
Make money from our efforts
Then hide us in caskets

But I must be back to work now
For visiting hours are over
You’re the only outsider I’ve seen
Since protruding from my mother