Giles Dawnay is a writer, poet and GP in Herefordshire. His website is: www.gilesdawnay.com
Something’s gotta get me
I guess, her elder wisdom smiles.
Digging for one thing,
we unearthed another.
Her soft nipple casts it shadow inwards
as though a sun dial to the time.
The body’s garden is full of clocks.
Beyond the word cancer
there is always a needed silence.
Anything else feels disrespectful.
Who dare speak first?
How much we want to scream,
shout or weep. Maybe even dare
celebrate if discovered in time.
For her, a flash of dark winter,
there might not be time.
For me, there is a spring of heavy lifting,
ticking, clicking and picking,
preparing the ground to welcome
the next patient guest.
For both, a seasoned sadness
that to share this growth
will take time.
Daffodils and snowdrops
trumpet their arrival into the blue sky.
The days grow longer,
time it feels, has returned.
Both of us will witness this
this evening on our way home
.
Both at some point,
will have to let the clock
move us past midnight.
Author’s note: this poem is based on clinical experience and not on any one specific individual.
Featured photo taken by Andrew Papanikitas, 2023
