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WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL ROOF TOUR

You have to haul yourself up by a rope:

the spiral staircase is so narrow and

the treads so shallow. I don’t think you’d cope

right now, but afterwards…

I understand,

she nods and drinks in my vivid outline

of the tour thirstily. When I’m quite through

this chemotherapy; my body’s mine

again, we must climb the tower and view

Wolvesey Palace, the Deanery, St. Cross..

Under the heavy wig her eyes burn bright.

I try not to think of her muscle loss,

or that she’s shrunk two inches of her height.

All I know is when birds return next spring,

I’ll stand on the cathedral roof alone,

or with her. Angels will be hovering,

lest we should dash our feet against a stone.

You cannot see their faces from the ground,

yet worshipful men carved exquisitely

where only God could note, their efforts crowned

in their own hearts.

We know implicitly

that all over in six months might mean that:

ambivalence a part of existence.

Magnificat; also requiescat:

twin themes in passionals of persistence.

Now she is confined in the dark stairwells

of pain where bluebottles accumulate,

but after her suffering has ceased, bells

will peal over pantiles, to celebrate

her courage, endurance, and will redound

to those whose vantage point’s on higher ground.

I read this poem on BBC Radio Solent on Thursday 21st September, 2023.

It was on Lucy Ambache’s afternoon show and she interviewed me about

47 minutes into the show, about 2.47pm. It can be accessed on BBC Sounds

under the Radio Solent programme….