poem #2

afterbirth

1.
Simple, I thought:
We make vows under bright
palm trees. You flash
gold on my finger.
This is final.
I choose you.

Never again the need
for fierce and tearful kisses.
Never the need
for desperate alleys
or raking nails. Never again
the silver fear shooting
up my spine,
my silent chanting
don't ever leave me
don't ever go.

With your sunshine promise,
I am released.

2.
I am full of excuses
as I tumble into
warm numbness. The distance
is thick as a cliché.
I am sighing, I am whispering
like my mother.

There is canned sitcom laughter.
I mention, amused,
how I swore I'd never be
like those TV couples, with their
worn and snappy cruelty.
I think of my foolishness.
A thin smile;
it's funny cause it's true.
There's comfort in
this normalcy.

In bed, I merely tolerate
the lump of you.

3.
Time off work. I am
without excuses, empty of
my medicating busy-ness.
I lie knitting on the
spare room bed. Unravelling,
untangling.

What messy love! I feel us
knotted by each other,
all limbs and heads and
swollen lumpy heart.
A muck of blood,
stomping, churning, grabbing
for love and freedom.
And compassion-tears,
their sad falling as we brave
the ugliness of you and me.

Holding on, staying put:
The viscera, the afterbirth of marriage.