I couldn’t tell
if that was her voice,
or a wasp on the front porch
anon -
this is a poem after all -
the muttering started up
he doesn’t see what I do all day
she will get to it soon, don’t bother
his back sweaty, her
shoes torn up by rehomed dogs,
do-gooders to a fault
air: sodden with expectations
dogs: impatient and demanding underfoot
man and wife: wondering why
to resent
or to be the resented
that is the question
I busy myself with an unnecessary task involving a pillow and a sham
a task as unnecessary as many of theirs
alone in my room, muttering haiku to myself
one sister trying not to witness
the other’s self-sabotage
It's been a while since my last post. I just finished my first year of studies and exams to become a homeopath. It's been a lot! What better way to get back into the game than with a bleak poem?
image is by Sophia Attebery, taken in front of my lakehouse during the big eclipse of 2024
