My Raucous, Singing Ear

By and | 15 September 2022

At Home

I am couch-sprawled, pinch of lower back and hips because I twist my body outlandishly, a comfort that’s uncomfortable. Every night I cuddle into this, the sofa black, plush and velvety, except where the cushioned edges have an oil-slick sheen. The armrests are the same, sleek and loved, and they’re wide and solid, sturdy enough to hold the heftiest, most fragile glass of wine, which it does, nightly, usually a red though sometimes a white because I have cravings, options, just enough money and a strong and defiant will. My acupuncturist / therapist / saviour / friend helps me rationalise my excess: people all over the world try to cut down their drinking and most aren’t dealing with an invisible disability; give yourself a break, and I do. It’s true, I give myself a lot of breaks. My hair is still wet from an hour-plus bath where I read a book of poetry, my partner and children just fine without me (just fine, just fine, without me, great). I am a series of brief indulgences. I gift myself minor freedoms from a tough trudge because my trudging is ongoing. I see myself deserving of this     every single     night     which feels selfish and reactive and I think it’s okay to be both of these things. I think it’s okay to take over couch.

                                                my leggings and ugg boots
                                                                                    my fire-warmed cheeks
                                                                        my coming down
                                    my tired frown
                                                            this digital tv                        my raucous ear

the remote control
                                    my spiralling hole
                                                                        my sloshing gut

                        and                        wallowing                        and                        swallowing
my bloodshot eyes
                        my throat-blocked tears 
                                                                                                my melting endurance
                                                                        this insisting endurance
this exhaustion
                                                            this assent
                                                                                                and I think I’ve seen 
                                                                                                this show before

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