Poems from Beverly Rycroft’s new collection A Private Audience.
Room Thirteen I married a gambling man.
Lucky for some
he says as I
thread my body through
the green gown
in room thirteen.
No jewellery the nurses ordered so
I hand him
my wedding ring. Eleven years married
I’m wheeled away to
wake up again in room thirteen
broad bandage across my chest.
He’s still there. Slides the ring back
on. Tells me:
It’s not the hand you get dealt
It’s the way you play it.
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