Old friend you welcome me into your roomRosy Wilson
present me with a crocheted shawl, consolation
after my long stay in a hospital ward.
You call this gift Haboo, your name
for the childhood comforter you held close
when you felt fearful or alone.
I hold it in my arms, colours like flowers
form lines: baby pink, scarlet, sparkling blue,
light yellow centre, trace these tracks
find love in the weaving, happiness
in receiving, reassurance, cast aside care
when I wrap it around my shoulders.
I bury my face in the shawl
savour the feel of soft wool.