Mel Eaton’s poem ‘In Situ’ is a poem of snapshots – of trying to make sense of being cast adrift in a world of medical jargon by becoming absorbed in watching raindrops on a window. It is a poem of sinking and sadness, of passing that endless time spent waiting. It is a poem of uncertainty – sometimes there are no immediate answers. – Jane Burn, guest editor.
In Situ
After the waiting room
It’s strange to watch
Raindrops multiply on
Each pock-marked
Petri-dish
Pane
There’s a focal point
A single, bauble raindrop
Unsure of it’s own form
And full of the realisation
That its nucleus has grown
Too heavy
The glint of light on its
Surface splits and wobbles
Sun-exposed cells
Multiply themselves into
Arrays of
Repeated addition
Examine now, it’s
Giddy membrane
A dislocated-divide
Reaching collectively out
To take another drop
Down
Celebrating Change 