You were the elephant in the room apparently.
The black seething mass of storm clouds
clustered over this house
keeping daylight out and darkness in.
Each room creaking under the pressure
of keeping you contained
when every corner was filled to bursting
and the foundations heaved
and the windows splintered
and even the roof tiles popped free
one by one
in the hopes you could be bled away.
You covered everything past, present,
Who could have blamed me
for those days I molded the mattress
to the shape of a collapsing spine,
when it was your weight
cursing every vertabrea,
turning my duvet to lead.
Your collapse was so much slower,
a reluctance I’d failed to show
when my strength shed like snake skin
and you took it for your own,
as a reminder
that you couldn’t be vanquished,
only temporarily tamed.
Recently, you fit inside a matchbox.
The size of an ant,
I carry you from place to place
in pocket or purse,
near enough to feel you scurrie
across my skin
when the sun skims behind the clouds
and shadows reign.
I know you are searching
for the gaps in my seams,
the frayed edges that will let you in
where you can grown again,
back to the size you were
when I was the insect
wedged beneath your boot.
It’s very possible you will.