It hurts too much to move,
to unlock, unhinge my joints,
put pressure on my tender limbs.
I will wait for my Carer:
my lover, my friend,
who will lift me from my bed,
My arms encircle his neck
as I breathe in the salty sunshine
of his skin, pressing my lips against
the cool ripple of his shoulder blade.
He carries me to a bathroom
of sunken marble and satin cushions,
a garland of candles guides our way,
I am Ophelia light: baptised, reborn.
His devotion will wash
the wounds of night away,
unclench the claws which trap
I will bathe in his tenderness:
my twisted hands and swollen knees
brave and beautiful
in his eyes.
All will be well
when he arrives.
- by Jacqueline Woods My poetry collection is available on Amazon: Jacqueline Woods, I Have Learnt