I love him, you know…
It’s just that the bottle
feels a quarter empty.
I like my work,
I remember being unemployed,
sick and being envious
of people lucky
enough to have penny jars.
My home is lovely,
I recall living in greasy bedsits
with a shared toilet
and shower down the hallway.
I’ve had 4 years of therapy
and since Mother died,
I’ve disowned my siblings
and have learnt
to let go of resentment.
I have come so far…I know it!
For a middle-aged woman,
I am as healthy
and disciplined as they come.
Yet, I shudder myself to sleep,
most nights my rocking
gives me seasickness?
There’s a crack in my soul
…unfixable
and an unwritten
Sylvia Plath poem
stalking my fragile heart
with a wailing promise
of a wasted, eternal longing.
More at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.