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A date with denial

Helen Vivienne Fletcher

 

I didn’t invite you in.
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You slipped in through a door
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I was sure I had locked.
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You covered the windows,
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disconnected the phone,
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put away all the mirrors.
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My arm was bleeding.
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You took my chin
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between your thumb and finger
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to turn my face to yours.
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Look at me instead, you said
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I would tell you if there
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was something to worry about.
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You filled my days with busy work
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and tempted my attention away with a smile.
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My leg began to shake.
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You pressed your hand to my knee.
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You could get up if you wanted to.
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You don’t want to.
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You grew lazy in your occupation of my time.
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You allowed me longer to squirm
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in the discomfort of my own being.
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But you always came back.
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You were always there
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when I really needed you.
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One day, you were gone.
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You left me lying on the floor
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taking my ability to breathe with you,
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I did not recognise my own face.
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I railed at you. Alternately cursing you
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for the time you had taken from me,
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then begging you to come back
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and cover the mirror once more.
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I stayed on the floor
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waiting for you to pick me up.
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You had pulled the blinds back
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from the window as you left.
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Daylight crept its way across my hand.

 

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Permanent link to this article: http://4thfloorjournal.co.nz/contents-2017-2/helen-vivienne-fletcher-2017/a-date-with-denial/