Poem about Parkinson’s

 

It’s the tremor that reminds us to live for every day.

It’s the tremor that reminds me to make sure we pray.

 

Uncertainty is a cruel beast

A double-edged sword

Your life may seem decreased

And in other ways adored.

 

We’re scared of progression

Of what we’re going to do

And when a symptom is depression

It’s hard to break through.

 

The muscles in your face

May try and hide your smile.

We won’t give it the power to erase

Although, it may beguile.

 

You hold your hand firm

To stop it when it shakes.

But I can hold it long-term

And help rigid muscle aches.

 

There are times when you’ve tripped

And it has scared us both

But we try to be equipped

And remember this oath:

 

It’s the tremor that reminds us to live for every day.

It’s the tremor that reminds me to make sure we pray.

 

Copyright  © Sophie Harrington (2016)

 

More Sophie Harrington poetry: Slow Down

 

 

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Childhood Home

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Familiarity fills my senses.
This place is in my bones.
The sunny door welcomes me
As it did the generations before.

The cold hardness of the cut glass handle
Its rainbow patterns dancing on the walls
When the sun beamed through the open door.

You could blindfold me.
I would still find the brass doorbell.
The double chime as you push and release your finger
Resonates in my memory.

I recall my grandmother’s playful tune on that bell.
A cheerful fanfare heralding her enthusiastic arrival.
Her mother bought this house.
I wonder if she rang the bell that way then.
When this house was filled with her children’s laughter.
My mother, her seven siblings and countless cousins.
A seaside holiday home.

My feet instinctively know to skip a step.
Years of practise over creaking floorboards.
My bare toes would get prickled
As I bound up the stairs to bed.
The carpet fitter left exposed tacks.
I learnt how to jump two steps at a time.
Those snakes would not catch me.

In bed, past the sash cord windows rattling in the wind
My parents are emptying the ash from the coal Aga.
Rumbling through the walls as the poker jolts.
Burning embers fall through into the tray, red and orange.

Downstairs the eggy sulphur would agitate a cough.
Peeping into the void to see the fiery deluge.
I would stay a safe distance away, as they taught me.
In bed, obedient, familiar sounds carry me to dreams of amber waves.

Copyright  © Sophie Harrington (2016)

Ode to an ill child

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The fever started and my reason parted

I always fear the worst.

 

Likely just a virus, that would be desirous

But my mind imagines something absurd.

 

I check you for rashes and temperature flashes

And ask if the light hurts your eyes.

 

I sleep on your floor even though it’s a chore

I want to be here when you wake.

 

You’ll understand, when you hold a little hand

The love that I feel for you.

 

I’ll be your defender, I’ll never surrender,

I brought you into this world.

 

I will sleep near while you still want me here

Because one day this job will be done.

 

I hope when you’re older and I’m up to your shoulder

You’ll still let me be your mum.

 

I want to advise you and let no-one disguise you.

Always be true to yourself.

 

So get well soon and be immune

To whatever it is that you’ve caught.

 

We’ll go and play and enjoy every day

Because life is too precious to waste.

 

Copyright  © Sophie Harrington (2016)