Change text size
-A
A
A+

V Wallace - The Recipient

This poem was written after viewing on Television, a True Life Story about a meeting between the grateful recipient of a healthy liver and the parents of the Donor - their recently deceased son.

THE RECIPIENT - V Wallace 11th June 2006

My palms are sweaty, I feel quite faint and my legs are trembling so.

I wonder if maybe I should have come. Did I really need to know?

Perhaps I should have left well alone, yet when I opened that letter wild horses would not hold me back.

Pure instinct helped me know better.

Pushing aside, the rusty, iron-gate, my heart is beginning to pound

The blood is pumping. I’m feeling quite faint. Who made that plaintive sound?

Pausing a second, my hand held aloft - Oh no, it cannot be done!

Expecting what? Reacting how? Will I be their own Prodigal Son?

Tentatively, I tap on the door, I hear an approaching shuffle

Should I turn and run? No take a hold! In a barely audible muffle.

The key is turning in the lock its grating assaults the air

The door is slowly held ajar. Who would that be there?

“Its Robert Duane”, I hear myself say. I take a mighty breath

“You wrote me just the other day, regarding your only sons death!”

Dad. He’s here, he’s here.” I hear the cry. The door is opened wide.

“Come in, come in, come in my boy. Bring yourself inside!”

Welcoming arms encircle me as I’m gathered to the breast

of a greying lady overjoyed at the sight of me --- her guest.

And I feel my right hand being pumped by a wiry, wrinkled man.

“Oh, we can’t say in simple words, how you’ve helped us with our plain.”

Did I hear them right? They’re thanking ME, for the gift they have bestowed?

I have a second chance at life and they’re hinting its me whose owed.

If these special people had not agreed to donate their only sons liver.

I’d not be standing here today - The very thought makes me shiver.

Looking about this simple room - each wall a tribute and shrine

to a tiny boy with his first cricket bat, Matchbox cars all in a line

and a surfboard, still waxed and ready to go - a man at his graduation

I realise then (for the very first time) their pain, in this strange situation.