Shards of Memory

Form: Prose Poetry

It was a cold Thursday night when my thoughts crashed out of my head. He listened as we sat drinking milky coffee in the dark. The light was too bright. We changed the soggy pillowcases and I curled up with the duvet stroking my ear. I can do this.

It was a Sunday night with a red moon. We stood in silence watching the lunar glow shimmer crimson light on the English Channel. I didn’t sleep as tomorrow was the day. I didn’t feel fear and I had no doubts. I looked into the dopey eyes of a spaniel and said, ‘It will be okay.’

It was a Monday night when I came screaming into the world. I don’t really remember it, but the journey of life had begun.

It was a Saturday morning when I sat alone in that room. The surgical gown fluttered in the breeze against my skin. I wasn’t afraid, it will be okay, but I wasn’t surprised to be alone. Quietly filling in a Sudoku puzzle until he came, and we walked to the room and put out the lights.

Another Saturday alone in a room staring at my phone. No messages to ease the pain of suction draining the disease away. The uneaten fish and chips sit on the table with an empty yoghurt pot. She comes in and strokes my hand, ‘you have got to eat’ but I am not hungry, and I am bored with fish and chips.

It was a crisp Tuesday morning and I’m going home. It’s okay.

Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com

©JGFarmer2020

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