All the waiting rooms become one
when they bring you home
to the rooms where you waited…
Loving your daughter,
hugging your sons,
smiling at babies
and sorting the world out with Auntie.
Resting your tired head on my shoulder
and holding your tissue,
we listen to children,
to TV, to bombs in Gaza,
to smiles and news from family
who bring armfuls of Love
from widespread lifetime journeys.
Your tiny hand keeps me close on our journey,
while shape-shifter steroids
bid you check if I’m comfortable
beside you. I am.
Your sweet head bows in thoughts
which lie too deep for tears…
Your sons, sensing, bending towards
9. 11. 2023