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.
Copyright © Permanent Cross | Year Posted 2016
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