You glance around, can’t see the cause, so you sweep it away. Until the next time it appears.
This time there is a long crack in the plasterwork and you think about speaking to someone but decide just to repaint it and carry on. Mistake! The foundations are slipping and this is the first outward sign that something serious is happening - but you are happy. Too happy to stop and examine the root cause of the problem.
In case I have lost you with the analogy, I am not really talking about the state of the house but the little cracks that go unnoticed in a relationship that, if left unattended, can eventually bring about the demise of what to those on the outside may seem perfect.
My earliest poetry, in fact my first serious attempt at poetry, was far more therapeutic than it set out to be. I wrote about my wall, a euphemism for the barriers to social interaction and relationships that I had built up in eight years of flying solo after my own marriage ended. I had put all my efforts into my two children and work, keeping my emotions firmly walled up. I was encouraged to start writing by an Australian friend and the first few poems were a revelation, especially to me. This one was written long after the dust-cloud had cleared.
Five Facets of Woman
She’s a goddess in the kitchen, an angel delight in a pinny and he wonders, by what magic she conjures a banquet while keeping her shape svelte and skinny? She’s a children’s entertainer, Enthralling them indoors and out and he wonders, how does she sweetly cajole them, when he is inclined to shout? She’s Miss Nightingale when they are poorly, soothing and fussing just right and he wonders, why does the strength never leave her, though she has been watching all night? She’s a whizz with the household accounting, her bargaining skills are sublime, and he wonders, why all that he wants and whatever he needs is always there, all of the time? She’s a kitten in the bedroom, her skin is so silky and smooth, and he wonders, how she can always delight him, mirror his every move? She’s a finely faced diamond of exquisite quality, a treasure that cannot be measured, a creature of fantasy and he wonders, what if she loses her sparkle, escapes from his platinum band? Then his eyes glint with emerald tinges as he tightens his grip on her hand. He is looking for imperfection, for infinitesimal flaw. Each hint of insecurity, loosens a once firm claw and she wonders why is her vibrance fading, her luster growing dim, when she was his precious diamond and all that she was shone for him? Thanks for reading. Adele.
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