Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

On the wall, petunias,

painted in Walberswick.

I call to you, say

That’s a good omen,

that’s a good sign,

before buckling,

gripping the hospital bed.

Walberswick is where

I holidayed, every childhood

summer. It’s where we announced

the news. Sixteen months

after the effort of her birth,

we collect a faux-walnut

box from Jenkins & Sons.

Inside, a clear sachet,

weightless as dried herbs.

We drive two hundred

and eighty-one miles

for that cold, unstoppable

wave to suck the sachet clean

and I ask you, She is all right now,

isn’t she? She is all right?