Trying to explain…
 
Sometimes a twinge I can see off with analgesic
handbag shopping, cake, box set.
Other times, it has me Munch-screaming behind
a fixed mannequin smile.
When I lived alone, relief pulling off stoicism
at end of day like chafing shoes.
Now, must overdose on espresso, gorge on junk food,
to drag my dead-weight body around daily duties;
my words pulled in Marathon Man teeth torture,
until can no longer blag I’m fine in too high voice
to your sixth-sense suspicion Are you Ok?
When I own up. Flat note in your voice ,
that I have kept it from you like a suspect lump.
 
What’s caused that then?
My shrug and shake of head,
baffling your engineer’s faith in cause and effect,
frustrating your mathematician’s problem-solving,
disappoints too when you have put in the hours
to make up for my life’s lost time.
We bear couples' shared failure then at
my inability to carry happiness to term.
But try to imagine;
grief without a death,
anguish without a catastrophe,
heartbreak without a betrayal.
Whose roots are embedded in my brain
like Japanese knot weed.

Fiona Sinclair

If you have any comments on this poem,  Fiona Sinclair  would be pleased to hear from you.