Water-lilies & Post-op
by Gill McEvoy
[ poetry - may 05 ]
Tonight I'm stepping out of this old skin.
Let it swirl down the drain and vanish -
all those years of making, and it didn't suit.
No time now to waste.
I wrap my raw self in a wreath of towel,
paddle to the wardrobe in wet feet.
In my wake a burst of strange,
dark water-lilies bloom.
My body is floating under the ceiling;
the rest of me is lying, quiet, on the bed.
I'm waiting, I think, for them to come and
get me down, put us back where we belong.
It might be difficult:
my body is singing a small song of delight,
stretching toes, fingers, scurrying past
the lamp, testing the restraint of walls.
It's left me on my own down here, but I don't mind;
I'm smiling: it's having such a happy time.
Even so, I keep a careful eye on it -
we'll be alright as long as no-one
wants the window open.