This was my first poem:
Memories. Of the past.
Swimming. Salt. The smell of pine trees. At night. Walking. Racing dragon boats. On the river.
The laughter emerges. The sadness remains. Always.
I am changed.
I wrote it within the first couple of weeks after I was discharged from hospital. Until then, I'd had no use for poetry.
The bloody brain unlocked a door.
I asked my neuropsychologist whether the poetry will fade as I heal, as my brain rewires. He said not.
I was relieved.