Cold for late August.
Although in full leaf
Trees appear starkly desolate
Against the grey sky.
Perhaps they will change into the barbed webs of winter
More quickly than we would expect.
Since that bad accident
It seems that you may need a carer
For much of your adult life.
A girl who suffers fierce seizures
Can rarely be left untended
For more than an hour or so.
The doors that were kept wide open for you
Slammed shut when your injuries were known.
I sit alone by the window
Watching the trees bend and twist in the wind
Like dancers with chains on their feet.
We two are shackled,
Kept far apart by the hidden fault
Deep in the folds of your brain.
After nearly two years in the hospital
Your home coming will be strictly monitored.
I sit alone by the window.
The oaks in the garden opposite
Have not been hacked by a tree surgeon
For maybe a decade or more.
I note how strong they have grown
In the years since they last were treated.
Indeed they have grown taller than the houses.
At dawn and sunset they fill with birdsong.
Cold for late August.
So like a mausoleum
This house echoes to my voice
As I talk to myself in my loneliness.
Perhaps this Fall the funds will be made ready
To make safe spaces for you to come home to.
Waiting is not a chore
Either of us do well.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
August 30th. - September 2nd. - 7th. 2021.
I like to write how people, self included, usually speak, not constructing a logical sequence of ideas, statements and images, but in a natural free flow. This poem is dedicated to Ivy who has been in hospital since early 2020 because of her epilepsy.
