Gifted


It’ll be another end
to another slowing year,
my tightening body
under pain’s besmear:

A letterbox drop,
cards on the hall floor,
there to remain,
as I can’t bend any more:

Christmas on pause,
a slight hint of freeze,
until the carer’s arrival,
to attend to me –

if she turns up,
if she’s the same one,
– my hour will lighten,
a bath will be run.

A text from my child,
now a mum on her own,
they’ll be here by three,
we are never alone.

One lesson I’ve learnt,
under disease’s deep rub,
is that life is still wonderful
when treated with love.


Featured in Parkinson’s Life


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