Alone, I lie prone
Weighed down
With the pressure of pain,
Unable to move.

My mind wanders,
Across hills and down vales,
Longing for my own spring.

My fingers grip the blankets
Trying to sit up,
Pushing myself back to life.

One day these hands
Will find your fingers
Folding them around my own
We will walk together
Towards the light.


As always, I’m early.

That unique clinical smell of disinfectant
Permeates the air;
Grey floors,
Grey walls,
A cloying sense of clean.

Too early for me.
Too early for them?

Cleaning progresses.

Tick tock, says the clock.
How many hours will pass before I am released?
I wonder if it would be wrong to start a tally.
Perhaps some kind soul will tunnel up from next door
Teach me all he knows.

In the distance someone drops a bed pan.
Nurses are handing over.

They find me a place to sit, uncomfortably.
Should I have stayed comfortable in the waiting room arm chair?
One poor soul has been here overnight.
An extra bed is squashed in across the way.

At the end of the bed a surgical gown begs to be inspected, tried on, paraded.
Should I do a twirl?

And so the circus begins.


Gone tomorrow

​“It’s quiet this morning.
Dead quiet.
Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Trailing off into nothingness.
The atmosphere smothers,
I can feel it pressing
Like a pillow
Against my skin.
We all know.
Waiting, both patient
And impatient,
For someone to say,
To tell us
What we already know.
As if that will make a difference,
Like he’s not gone
Until they tell us.
There won’t be shirt tearing,
Hair pulling sobs.
Maybe when we leave this place,
We will whisper to those we love.
Someone died.
Here, Today.