Waiting to hear if I will be able to use this poem, by my late friend John Stone, doctor and poet, as an epigraph for my manuscript.
Stroke
I imagine his bedroom
where he woke this morning
to find half his singing nerves
numb and silent
his tongue halved and pulling
the cold words cramping in his throat
half a world gone in each eye.
I dream
his darkened bedroom
where last night
his mind meshed
in its last unaltered thinking
where now
these work shoes
will unwalk
neatly
against the wall.
–John Stone
Advertisements
Leave a Reply