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Edith Is Found

At the foot of the stairwell 
face up she lay, knocked, smashed, kicked, 
robbed, disfigured, lifeless so
it seemed, when the police came,
with ambulance attending.

   In the trauma ward it was 
   all we knew, except her name
   was Edith. Over eighty 
   the nurses guessed she might be.
   Her face so swollen, she lay
   unconscious, so dependent
   on attentive hands nursing.

   Edith was just a form; charts
   recorded her distressed state;
   a person we could not know.
   Without family would she
   have anyone to live for?

The third day two young people 
arrived; shocked to see her so
unresponsive – as neighbours 
they came again with others.

Before she opened her eyes
we began to know Edith,
her nature mirrored in those 
she had befriended, cared for.
Cared for, injuries began
to heal. Pillowed, her hair washed,
we could imagine her as
lively, full of interest.

   One day she seemed aware of
   conversations, their presence
   touching, encouraging her
   response which came with a hand
   held out to grasp friendship; found.

   From there it was a long way
   for Edith to get back up;
   and to walk, to climb those stairs
   to home, but with therapy
   she was remade with young friends,
   friends to live for. She was found.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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