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.