‘I gather there’s not much hope’
you sighed this morning,
all boggy and sad.

Till we met Kirsty,
fine physiotherapist,
who took your ‘crippled’ hand in hers
and worked it
gently
intently
like a sculptor
molding a masterpiece.

And little by little
your sleepy muscles
opened their eyes.

‘I think she’s kidding…’
but you knew she wasn’t.

And when she told you
you could walk
without the frame,
you didn’t believe her.
Till you tried
and you did
and you cried.
And so did I.

And tonight,
the psychologist
called Diane
(sixty something
with a kind face
and the grace
of a saint)
said simply:

‘You don’t honestly imagine they’d bother with all this rehab
if they didn’t think you were worth it, do you? Do you realize,
you’re costing the government over $500 a day -
And that’s just for the bed? ’

No prayers.
No promises.
No bullshit.

And you believed her.

Alison Cassidy

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jerry-s-journey-the-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel/