today

Today is sour, curdled in its sickly insides.

It’s puffed up and chocked around its throat.

Crooked in its edges.

It drags its swollen belly across time in zig zag sighs.

It hangs its saggy body over my head all year round.

Hissing it’s long ‘I’m nearly here.’

Today it prickles between my bones and skin.

Clamps itself around my chest with steely claws.

At six our memories are in a suitcase.

Stuffy in their space.

I hold them close in you and the you I think of every day.

Grief doesn’t leave.

It’s just replaced.

It turns from one pain to the next in a coin toss.  

Curls into a new creature.

Leaving today bitter, congealed, fermented. 

And we pull our heavy legs through its waters.

And remember today is just a day, it’s just not like any other.

Shrunken dog

My black dog has shrunk. I might have put the beast in the wash.

I think I must have.

My black dog has shrunk and is stretched in weird ways, his fur is licked into curls that stick to his sloppy face.

His stuffing is bulging around his knees and ankles, his calves are saggy.

Disfigured and tiny my black dog has turned from beast to stuffed puppy.

Without his growl being so loud, it’s become, life has become, a little bit quieter.

I’m a little less frightened.

It’s slightly easier to climb out of bed in the morning. 

Now he’s shrunk so small. 

I’ve grown tall. Taller. 

I’ve not done the bad things, not a single one of them, for a while now. Now he’s so much smaller.

I guess I get a chance now. To feel proud now, about the time we had together just before now.

 When I needed to be stronger because he was so loud when he was around when he was big and tall and round.

Now he’s in the palm of my hand, I’ll tuck him up, I’ll put him down.