Five French Words

The scab
Was healing,
Tortuously, torturously.
It itched like hell.

But I had to discard, 
Try to pay no attention 
To the affliction -
Like trying not to think 
About pink elephants.
Silence as salve.

Fucking Facebook.

Five French words:

"Les rêves étaient très doux" 

"The dreams were very sweet."
The real translation?
"I'm dreaming about
 All the fun
 We had on the boat
 Last weekend."

Wow, the pain.
Panic attack
Meets heart attack
Meets primal scream
Meets gut punch
Meets a knee to the nads.

Five French words
Which could have been
Written for me
(And kind of had been,
Though it was only
In our dreams),
Ripped that scab off
With the fury
Of butchery.

The wave crashed.
I breathed not.
No ignoring this.

But like a bandaid 
Pulled off in a blinding flash,
The miasma of misery
Left just a scar.
It won't need to scab over again.
I hope.

No comments:

Post a Comment