Unrepeated

In the doctors’ surgery,
I hook my finger in the door handle.
It bends back to almost-breaking point.
I remember my mother’s story
Of her twig-snap, childhood moment
In a Cambridge department store –
And slow down time:
History does not repeat
Itself.

4 June 2008

Tried to fit this into a tanka, but the concept was too long! Not sure about either possible title... My mother often used to tell us about various gruesome accidents she had as a child, and their weird (mad?) doctor. Apparently, after my mum had fallen off her bike, and her arm had loads of gravel embedded in it, the doctor just bandaged my mum's arm up really tightly, with out cleaning it or picking out the gravel! My grandparents apparently finally realised something was wrong, when the smell of rotting flesh became over-whelming!