Last Spring

…

Digging a trench, the spade,

brought out a blister on my hand.

My hands have softened over this past year,

I keep digging, the blister bleeds,

I see my blood, as if it is telling me,

you are no longer young,

your body is letting you down,

its letting me know.

…

A year ago last Spring,

my life was almost lost.

Doctors and nurses saved me,

and brought me back.

A small journey, of a kind,

a fast race through country lanes,

in an ambulance gurney,

the quiet rhythm of machines.

…

After a day working in the garden,

I look at my hand now,

showing a small blister,

nothing much, a scab is forming.

And I see my skin do what it must do,

what it always does

heal the wound, no matter how small.

I wish that my life could be the same.

…

Last Spring the horizon was clear.

…

Rob Cullen ©28.02.2021.