HOME, WEEK 3

A sonnet. A companion to WARD 32, WEEK 8

I make the move from crutch to newel post.

Let me pause. The house knows I have returned.

I settle here once more, not yet the ghost.

Home, with less toes. Replete with lessons learned.

Below, her hand will sofa-slide to mine.

She will whisper 'ready?' My eyes will glisten 'yes.'

One button pushed, light flounces, crime fills the time

We are aloft in Danish noir. I almost confess.

I thought I'd never see this room again.

Or her face. I am upright, not on my knees,

With septic suffering or piercing pain.

Yet tears fall from me in diffident ease

This respite cannot be taken for granted.

Restless and fearful, now, just now, landed.

© Dave Duggan 20.10.2014