She slid on to the floor,
Felt the threads of
carpet burn,
Saw the despaired,
pale,
haunted,
detached
face stare back;
In the eyes.
Then the tears came. Free
flowing.
It was just so desperate.
She’d felt it all week,
But now she was alone.
Alone to let those bare
feet lightly dance on her
Titillate her,
Confuse her.
‘it’s all your fault’
he said teasingly
‘if it wasn’t for your convincing arguments on
polyamory,
we wouldn’t be in this triant mess’.
She wanted to correct
him;
This mess, this mess?
This mess that I laid out
my week
To shuffle through neck
deep
While his bare feet and
hands
Plucked the fruit of
ideals of his early teen future?
This
mess was nothing to do with being three;
And complete in three.
Because, that never happened.
It thought it happened.
But it only got that far.
But then the taxi came,
Just like it always does
in movies.
‘you
know I’m free after 9 both days’
but by then he had
already pulled a face
while the car pulled away
a pale face of contrived
gratitude and love
and another making light
of a very deep, deep problem.
----------
She looked back at the
gaunt face,
It was so miserable it
brought tears.
A dialectical mirror of
tears.
She can’t let it in now,
She can no longer get
involved in these things.
She has herself to take
care of.
Primarily.
This winter.
---------
The heat rose to her
cheeks,
Her eyes smarted,
Her lip might’ve just
wobbled.
The icy finger of reality
May have settled on her
heart
‘I’m disappointed in your unreliability
I’m disappointed in your email;
And this,
I’m disappointed even in this medical certificate’.
She was surprised that
she could stare this woman in the eyes,
Straight into her eyes,
And not cry.
‘I shouldn’t have trusted you’.
She ran up those stares,
And those stairs
To the bell of room 66
Paralysed woman who
needed the toilet.
She stopped.
She thought.
She sank.
Her eyes smarted.
Again.
‘she’s frail and very weak these days
don’t take your chances’.
Her shaken fingers fixed
the Velcro,
The buckles,
Check 1. Feet.
Hands on handlebar. Check
2.
Buckles, check, upright
body.
Remote. Check. Check.
Wobbly voice. Frail
voice.
‘help. It hurts. It –hu-urtsss. Help.
It hurts’.
Then the song switched
on,
The composure wrought the
coping body
‘Don't get any big ideas
They're not gonna happen
You paint your house white and feel the noise
But there'll be something missing
And now that you found it, it's gone
Now that you feel it, you don't
I'm not afraid
’.
She has a seizure.
I Panic.
The bell is pulled.
Three people come.
‘It's a lovely day tomorrow
Tomorrow
is a lovely day
Come
and feast your tear dimmed eyes
On
tomorrow's clear blue skies
If
today your heart is weary
If
ev'ry little thing looks gray
Just
forget your troubles and learn to say
Tomorrow
is a lovely day
When
I was young
My
mother would watch me
On
the days when it would rain
She'd
see me so unhappy
My
nose against
The
dripping windowpane
And
I would hear
Her
singing this refrain’
And I burrow my face
Into her withered collar bone,
And seek comfort in this body,
In knowing that every breath I breathe on her,
Her skin feels
And she doesn’t feel alone.
We can’t feel alone in pain.
I stroke her hand
While she holds tightly to me,
Now I know what to hold on for dear life is.
Breathing. That soft skin of 93 years.
The wheezing of her lungs.
The SILENCE.
The morepork of the night,
Rattling my body.
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