Deb Brandon: Living in Radiant Color


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.