Rise.
As I sit in my room and wail, ‘why me?’
Leaning out of my window, I curse people, quite pathetically.
Of course, COVID has bashed me– again- and thrown away the key.
Not today. Really? Why today? And then I rise, make some tea.

Into my bedroom I go; he still serves food at the door.
But in this invisible snare which holds me, I ponder.
Alone.
Magazines- not read- laden out on the bed, I shred,
tear out pages and pages and pages, like a
frenzied, angry and puzzled weirdo.
What’s next?

And then, by Jove- PING! Images mutated.
My new life was there, waiting patiently on pages.
To carve and compile, create and conceive it.
I stared, in awe as it danced out its song.
This dream-like vision edged towards me.
Half amazed; half scared- I let it commence.

Images of oceans and adventures await,
Freedom with friends, fresh air on my face.
Muted, calms tones for a home that I’ll make.
It warmed me through, and into my soul and now I see it.

I CAN rise again.
I CAN un-leash my potential- unearth my lost career.
I CAN rise to just, be.

You see, this year, is quite different from the seventeen days of yore.
A divorce.
It’s happening.
Years of pain: “I can’t take no more.”
Lies, deceit, adultery, addiction- where does it end?

Is love enough? Sacred oaths, like magical fairy wedding day dust-
now gather, and clog up where there isn’t chipping, flaking rust.
Our children don’t know, yet; we can’t carry on and pretend.
As we pack their belongings, like it’s game and they don’t know the end.

Then one day I saw these words extend out their lips to my ears, whispering gently:
“When someone shows you who they are the first time, believe who they are.”

To her, I owe my freedom.
“still I rise.”

(In honour of the greatest legend: Maya Angelou)