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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=528016" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tess's Typewriter.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">That year they gave Tess <br>her first typewriter. She'd <br>not need to borrow her <br>brother's battered old piece <br>or write down her fragile <br>poems in her spiderlike <br>scrawl as her father called it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The promise came while <br>she was getting her mind <br>together in that mental <br>asylum, after the mucky <br>love affair that went no <br>place and left her hanging <br>there, like one crucified <br>for all to see and most <br>to softly mutter and stare. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Get yourself mended girl, <br>Father said, and we'll buy <br>you your own typewriter, <br>so you can stab away on <br>the keys to your heart's <br>content and bring out <br>those poems of yours. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He never read her poems, <br>never read much apart <br>from the back page sport <br>or gawked at page 3 girls <br>with a tut tutting tongue. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That year she gazed out <br>of the wide barred window <br>of the asylum at the snow <br>on fields, at the seagulls <br>gathering and feeding behind <br>the faraway tractor as it <br>ploughed, at the grey <br>depressing sky, wondering <br>what it'd be like to not be, <br>wondering what the woman <br>with a cast in her eye, was <br>doing to herself in the toilets, <br>one night when she'd gone <br>in to pee unable to sleep. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The typewriter idea <br>and promise kind of got her <br>through the dark hours and <br>the ECT, and the following day <br>headaches and numbness. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">After slitting her wrists (mildly, <br>a cry for help) she said on the <br>phone to her father, Come get <br>me out of this place, help me <br>get back together. Ok, he said, <br>Miss Humpty Dumpty, and he <br>put down the phone, and she <br>stood in the hall of the asylum <br>with the receiver in her hand, <br>the image of the typewriter <br>before her eyes, those poems <br>banging on the inside of her <br>head, new ones wanting to <br>get out, old ones left for dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Terry+Collett">Terry Collett</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=528016" data-title="Tess's Typewriter. de Terry Collett" data-description="That year they gave Tess 
her first typewriter. She'd 
not need to borrow her 
brother's battered old piece 
or write down her fragile 
poems in her spiderlike 
scrawl as her father called it. 

The promise came while 
she was getting her mind 
to..."></div>
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