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The shaking settled, mercury lower,
she tries his brow and salves his lips
relieved he’s been reprieved for now
but dreading the night ahead in case
he suffers a relapse.
By dawn the battle nears its climax:
though racked by coughing, laved with sweat
grandfather grits his teeth, resolved
to keep on breathing till the fever
relinquishes its grasp.
At noon, the crisis past, he lapses
into a deep exhausted sleep.
The doctor presses grandmother’s hand,
advises her to let him rest,
then give him chicken soup.
He lives to know his first grandchild
is due in months. He smiles on feeling
my muffled antenatal kicks:
but death prevents the patriarch
from seeing his grandson’s face
ME Scott
Laurel Vale House, 121 Ballyskeagh Rd, Dunmurry, Belfast BT17 9LL
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