I don’t need to go tomorrow.

I don’t need to go tomorrow.

We sat together

In silence

A troubled time

The air turbulent

Rippling with tension

If I had carried one

I would have cut it with a knife

Not that it would have

Been appropriate

A misguided metaphor

If ever I saw one.

We sat for weeks,

Until she cried

Painfully slow tears

Heavy with unearned guilt

I measured their progress

We rarely moved

A tableau

She a Rodan

Stone faced

Bookends of patience

And pain

She sank even lower

Than her opinion

Of self

Afraid she would be cut down

Tongue removed

Lips sewn shut

Blue pills shovelled in

Between the stitches

Grass growing

Over our feet

Between our toes

We sat, as dirty rain ran down

Double-glazed window panes

She settled lower

Than I thought possible

Folding up

Sliding down

A fall of snow

Frozen features

Crystal cut

Slow to melt

Until a thaw came

A smile to say hello

The magic of a word

A new growth yet to flower

But a movement into spring

Into the woman

She was meant to be

Took control unto herself

And as we

At last, approached an end

To our beginning

She said thank you

And I said

No

Thank you.