Weightless

those beaten eyes glazed with a film of bitter almond shakily receiving her post partum reward of a broken thyroid and a lumpy lack of form once upon a time she lived a lighter life ‘til procreation drubbed her good these days she’s flesh in a black bag of tightly straining clothes mother-love keeps her upright dead on her feet several months ago but no-one’s noticed she’s gone off under the wafts of the morning bacon was that a giggle or a sob or perhaps both, for things past caring she is but it won’t help her now as the hormones take a dive and psychiatry pricks up its ears still her occult self eludes her skips laughing through months of therapy peeps out behind the tumble dryer to whisper “take the pills” they want to help, they cannot help those people who mean well there is no holding dock for deadweight mum she sails away with breakfast things left clean performs a joyful whale-dive, drifts unseen ©C Watkins All rights reserved.