Clouds gather, merge. He sees himself as a large,
harmless fluff. But she sees him as grey with dashes
of steel, ominous, a tightening screw.
He asks why she goes out for coffee, to meet friends.
Is he not enough? He monitors her phone, her social
media, her spending, her sleeping. He keeps receipts.
A hurricane is a whip that hits out indiscriminately.
His calm centre is deceptive. He plays victim,
points to his lack of control, shunts responsibility elsewhere.
The storm spirals, pulls himself in a circular argument.
I do this, I do this, I wash, rinse, repeat. I do this.
He fails to let the rain cleanse the grit from his eye.
Eventually it blows out, shrugs off its anger, drifts
A cloak of shame is the easy option, a comfort blanket,
not a force for action, a silvery light suggestive of change.
Hurricanes centre around their eye. Spent,
she eyes the destruction. Where to start?
It might take a lifetime's work.
Emma Lee’s publications include “The Significance of a Dress” (Arachne, 2020) and "Ghosts in the Desert" (IDP, 2015). She co-edited “Over Land, Over Sea,” (Five Leaves, 2015), was Reviews Editor for The Blue Nib, reviews for magazines and blogs at https://emmalee1.wordpress.com.
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