Stitch This

This could be a serious one so skip if you’re wanting happy thoughts.

Clamshell

I’m ruminating, rather like a cow
How
It is
That illness makes you insular
Inwards looking
Closed.
You’d think you’d be the opposite
Push it away
Run far away
And yet your focus drags back
To your back
Or your feet
Or your mind.
No wonder carers get fed up
They see you closing
And try to shake
Try to wake
The person that they know
That they care for.
They didn’t sign up to service a black hole
Sucking in energy
Sucking in time.
They want the old person back
The one with horizons and hope.
I want that too
More than you’ll know
I slip into selfishness
Can’t kick to get out.
Give me your hand
And give me a shove
A tug from the dark
Now that is real love