There are tears in the clinic as retinas detach,
scan shadows explained. There are moments profound,
tissues all round, talk of hope, coping strategies.
There are choices explored, stark asa pale wall
in a consulting office. Chemotherapy and barium
fill up conversational silence like so much lead.
There are loved ones holding hands, wondering who’ll
be there to hold theirs at the end of the end,
when empty days will be enemies, never friends.
There are ladies with mops, skating around the dreams
of kiddies already half in Heaven and hush little baby
don’t you cry, mummy’s going to weep you a lullaby.
There are people waltzing out into the street,
light as prisoners newly released to freedom, hope
and tomorrows and tomorrows and tomorrows.
There are soft-voiced darlings who don’t see dates,
only bodies, broken and bent. Through snow and sleep,
terrors and weeping, they wait faithful as ever to mend.
Harry Gallagher
The RVI is the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle
