Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2016
The ward is busy
I hear voices,
and calls,
and a bell rings nearby.

My blind eyes see nothing,
but I turn my head
at each sound pretending
I can see.

A hand touches my arm.  

Morning Grace, how are you?

It's Nurse Kavel isn't it?
I say.

Yes it is, she says,
how are you?

My legs hurt,
my toes itch me,
I tell her.

The stumps of your legs
will hurt,
but the itching toes
is in the the brain's memory,
she says.

Are my leg stumps healing?

They are improving,
she says,
once they have healed
sufficiently the doctors
will talk about getting
you artificial limbs,
and you will receive help
on how to walk again.

Will I walk again?

Yes you will, Grace,
the nurse says,
in time, but for now
we must do what we can
to make you comfortable,
and keep the stumps
clean and able to heal.

She pulls back the blankets,
and lifts up my nightgown,
and begins to unwrap
the bandage on my right stump,
and I look into the darkness,
and see nothing,
but in my mind,
I think of Anthony,
and us dancing
(Clive had died
a month earlier)
and he was trying
to cheer me up,
and get me back
into War-time society again,
and he had taken me home,
and kissed me goodnight
on my doorstep.

I lick my lips
as if the kiss is now,
and want it to be a kiss
from someone
not this darkness,
and feeling undone.
A BLIND AND AMPUTEE WOMAN IN 1940 IN HOSPITAL AND HER THOUGHTS.
Terry Collett
Written by
Terry Collett  72/M/England
(72/M/England)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems