365 Poems/17 Maintaining Support (Very rough first draft)
Eleven years ago I was surrounded by madness.
My heart had shrunk to half its original size,
and death was in daily conversation
as something that could actually happen.
I hated everyone and didn’t appreciate
when you would bring me good tissues,
fruit and fig rolls. I couldn’t believe
you didn’t understand fig rolls
were as dangerous as morning coffee biscuits.
You didn’t appreciate my reasoning
for going vegetarian,
but could read my daydreams.
Three years ago, I was prescribed
and you went with me at midnight,
on your birthday, to pick up my prescription.
It was October. It was cold. I was scared.
I didn’t for a second think you would be too.
In the car, while I swallowed my pills
and cried, convinced I was going to die,
you calmly started the car and we drove home,
Radio 2 murmuring on the stereo.
Yesterday, you said you could feel my ribs again,
and I didn’t believe you, but I have a wound
that isn’t healing, and that can only mean one thing.
I need to listen, because your guidance
has been with me since the beginning.
The image that inspired this piece.