Living with endo
My days are clothes on a washing line
Some swan off in a world of their own
who don’t give a damn anymore
When the rhythm’s died down
they plunge face first
fester in the grass like post-party temper
And then there are those
where shape has no meaning
stitching unravels letting everything loose
Only a handful bask in their brilliance
stretch themselves tall
for the last bits of sun
II on meds
Every day is doable
with stuff that keeps me tidy.
an unthinkable implant now a familiar thing
snug after cramps straightened themselves.
A circular dream
swallowed with shocks of water & morning
designed to lessen or give absence like me.
Hard bits of sky
sing-song at night like low hanging wonders
keep pain & those stuck together appeased.
Every part balances
as I tiptoe a beautiful hush.
About the Author
J V Birch lives in Adelaide. Her poems have been published in Australia, the UK, Canada and the U.S. She has three chapbooks with Ginninderra Press – Smashed glass at midnight, What the water & moon gave me, and A bellyful of roses – and a full-length collection, more than here. www.jvbirch.com