After An Illness

I have come back to life, and the heady
joy won’t leave me, an at-last
at-last mingles with every
bird’s cry, the insects themselves
parading and humming delight.
I have the all of it, the sensuous
bliss of it,
body again body, free
to move, delighting in the motion,
mind unfogged to leap around
an old jazzy thinking that flickers
and enchants me.

Spirit unchained, I emerge from all
darkness, jump into this beautiful
fire of sunlight
where the trees outdance themselves and I can’t
stop the seeing,
this famished taking in,
give me more fullness,
calm, ecstasy.

We all step in shadow,
and that four-year descent
nearly enveloped me, took me,
but I rise, spin, hold my own
with the new and evocative moon.

Healing Hands
to my grandfather

Your hand lies softly,
whispers of greater strengths
of summer lights, of some sweet
failings.

It drifts and lulls, the wings
of touch, tilts against my arm
like a bark riding on waters
left to night.

Your hand lifts up, stuttering
its stories, winnowing between
first and last, far
and near, love and love.

Bird of air, silk-palmed,
long-fingered, gentler –
you led me across years,
showed me everything you loved

as I found my way.
Your grace belies the darkening
weakness of your body,
pulling daily toward the earth.

Every word matters now. I’m here
with you as you tell of a journey
in whispers, and I hold on until
you’re ready to let go.

Jill McGrath is a Seattle poet who finds inspiration on a paddle board, a hiking trail, or a dance floor. Memorable adventures include a year-long bicycle journey in Asia and a year editing tourism magazines in Nepal. She’s published a chapbook, The Rune of Salt Air and has had 45 poems published in literary magazines. Recent publications include The Last Stanza, Dorothy Parker’s Ashes, The Blue Heron Review, and the Alchemy & Miracles Anthology.