By Nigel Smith
A poem written about a ‘peak experience, from a hospital stay two years ago, Cellulitis, Pneumonia, +13 1/2y PD.
Then the World held no comfort for me; and
within a pause, all my ‘before’ and ‘now’
blanched invisible with the rapid dilation of
my collapse;
to live must I stand, and move, endure
pain beyond, again and again to keep
the mosaic of the feather self whole;
a thought bloomed with a sickening jar,
I knew I was broken, my World no longer
held any comfort, no cradle of infancy
remained, gone the surety of the familiar;
ahead, a tangle of thorns through which I must
once more stumble and crawl, muscle and tendon
protesting with fire;
I could do so no more, I sought the still sleep of
moss & granite, my last and only movement being
fingers over Lilies strewn, tracing the yellowing curl
of their decay;
and yet, at this my endpoint, a hand laid tender
strokes of soft persistence upon my hair, each,
in its wake, drawing me closer to her embrace;
and when my head finally pillowed upon her,
she shared the beat of her heart, its soft hypnosis
complete as she hummed ‘I know, …..I know’
I was but one of many in her care yet I felt a
love of sorts, from a stranger who helped
the sick, the Lost for no other reason than
Goodness within;
she smiled the world to wait, and said
‘Come on Love’, and I rose through my
pain, my anguish and stood
once more;
where for a second or two
I knew the majesty of human
love, of compassion’s silent
power.
I could see only the neutral
shades of the same, contrast
struggling to get purchase,
and everyone blinking,
trying to clear a tear;
Nigel Smith is from and currently lives north of Leeds, in the county of West Yorkshire. He is married to Jo-ann and has two adult children Before PD he worked in Optics, now he writes poetry and creates content for audio and visual projects. He is co-founder of ‘The Wall,’ home to the collective known as The Poets with Parkinsons.