Lines With No Name

You have filled the year.

The casual-seeming phone

call from my sister,

“What are you doing

this weekend?”

I had a train ticket

for the Lakes

for a wedding

I didn’t have

the heart to attend.

In the end, another rail

journey took me north,

not so far,

to the heart of England.

In the hospital

you were mad,

icy cold, trusting

no-one except

your three daughters. 

The nurses were

murderers, the food poisoned,

the doctors shams. 

But slowly,

the right drugs,

food and care

got you better,

to shuffling point.

Shuffling, laughing,

writing again,

commanding as ever.

Everything is back

to normal now except

the image of you,

small and obstinate,

broken and strong.