Deep Trauma – New Poem (Rough First Draft)

Deep Trauma

Your body has suffered deep trauma

and they’re not sure you’re going

to wake up from this clot of sleep.

 

I hold your little finger, the way I did

when we were kids and you would say,

‘hold my hand’so the wolves don’t get us. ‘

 

I’d convinced you there were wolves

on the moors, hidden in the heather, waiting.

 

I want them to find the hospital, pad along

the fiery white corridors, doctors thinking

they’re a beautiful hoax. I want them

to come here, to your room.  

 

My heart has developed new ridges

and canyons over you. I can’t remember

the last time it felt smooth.

 

Before the crash, before I saw

you destroyed  by fog and a hot burst

of difficult conversation, I told you

it was time to drop the depression,

time to sweat through the withdrawal.

 

You’d told me you weren’t ready,

that it wasn’t time.

 

I rolled my eyes, turned away

while you fell backwards again

into the battlefield.

                                          

We’ve all agreed in the turning off

of your life support machine.

 

Quietly, you slip over, your features

more fragile than I’ve ever seen

and tranquil.

 

In my fit of mid afternoon dreams,

you’re on the moor dancing barefoot,

and there are wolves with you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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