The card rains silver paper hearts
as the smell of handpicked lavender
fills the living room. There are owls
made out of ice with perfect sculpted wings,
melt in your mouth caramels from Paris,
shamrock shortbread that I eat
through the long night of falling hospital beeps.
My father sends me a book about the pirate queen,
another Irish warrior he writes.
His faith in my courage makes me feel
braver than I’ve ever been. So much is given
just when I thought it was all being taken away.


One thought on “Gifts

  1. This is such a restorative post. Made my heart fill. I discovered your blog after buying your poetry and will be following. Wish you all good things and laughter as you go. Your beautiful voice speaks for lots of us.


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