I can see the whole World from here
Everywhere I’ve been and the
postcard-only places of dreams.
Giant Atlantic waves crash so that
I can feel the joyful cold on my toes
memories and hopes.
The air thins and now I look at mountains
Giants with hair of snow and
long creeping fingers of ice.
Months and decades pass before
forests shoot from the ground
bringing with them a stray bluebell and families on daytrips.
I relax and the garden swims into view
from my childhood home,
no longer a too-hot summer but
a calm autumn morning.
Then the world whispers back
but a little piece remains – a bunch of gardenias in a vase
in the window.
This piece was originally written for a Writing East Midlands prompt about poetry for patients in hospital. I was writing it remembering the way my grandmother seemed to look beyond the windows and see something further and older while she was in hospital the last time.