After The Blackberry Picking’s Finished

…and you’ve acclimatized,
found breathing room,
within each other’s private spaces.
You juggle constantly to keep the lid
upon that claustrophobic, boiling pot.
Which inevitably bubbles over
exploding a ruined day in bitter silence.
Revealing elasticated cracks
which reshape and set at will.
The photo album (Trail Of Tears!)
is locked away up in the attic
like a demented Mrs. Rochester of memory.
You try keeping it from the kids
but you cannot hide animosity.
Subduing and stifling
where you both once found
energy and encouragement.
You’d miss her if she went away
yet, grate the hours if she stayed?
Love; is but a fondness and familiarity
when the magical fireworks of beginning
have ground-fallen with a whimper.
It’s hard to see outside the box
when you’re living half inside someone else’s.
Luke-warm hearts are not that exciting…
but they can still keep the wolves at bay.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.