A Poem by our Writer in Residence, David Gilbert
On the 17th Day
Well, you wouldn’t be here
were it not for the unrecognised
kindnesses you’ve shown
yourself. You think it was god?
You think love is all ra-ra-ra?
You need a cosmic white light?
Still you’d doubt
the quietness in your brow
as you let your eyes fall
behind the lids. And your body sink
Yet this is as real as the thought
that you’re about to be hijacked
by a lone small voice that is more
recognisable now in the silence
to be allowed and to be allowed.
Maybe it’s a child trapped
in that downstairs cupboard
or on his own
in a million different configurations.
Here is the sun on your face.
You don’t have to find words
for why you’ve been saved
or how you’ve saved yourself.
© 2023 David Gilbert
David Gilbert is Writer in Residence at Bethlem Gallery, author of ‘The Patient Revolution – how we can heal healthcare’ (Jessica Kingsley Press) and ‘The Rare Bird Recovery Protocol’ (poetry collection).