Helen Reid is Professor of General Practice and Medical Education at Queen’s University Belfast and works part-time as a GP in Elmwood Medical Practice.* She is on Bluesky: @helenreid.bsky.social
Unfurling into the water,
such tenderness, freedom, lightness.
Not the landlocked, shuffling prison.
Even acid-green woggled
she’s beautiful in the water, looser. Untangled.
He’s doing everything to restrain the inevitable.
Professional hydrotherapist comes at a price.
She’s worth it.
The curse of the slowing.
Expression revealing less and less of what she once was.
Stiffening, retreating.
He gets release too,
A precious hour she is somebody else’s care.
He snorkels fast, urgently, keeps moving,
escaping the clock watching for the next hit of dopamine
which does little to stave off the inevitable.
Free in the water, he’s unfurling too
reliving their shared youth.
He adores her still; he wants to stay here forever.
Then the hour is up.
Exiting the water brings a return to reality,
she freezes. Stiffens.
It takes three where in the water she’d been free.
Unfurling.
*Author’s note: Whilst based on my composite observations of individuals living with Parkinson’s disease, this poem is a creative piece and does not relate to a particular person, alive or deceased.
Featured photo by Brandon Hoogenboom on Unsplash.
