In my hospital bed

I picture a small tent on the beach.

The weather is stormy, but I find

a little nook between the dunes.

There is something in the wind —

usually eerie, now comforting,

as if to warn others away.

I look down and see a torch in my hand

as the doctor shines a light in my eye.

Although the moon is already bright.

There is the sea, always the sea.

Then I hear my grandfather’s voice

spoken from my doctor’s mouth:

Come on, my girl. Wake up. The tide. The tide!