Dark grey

crying at the kitchen sink.

sullen tears, these
born sour and silent, of thwarted will and thousand-cut death
of trickling heart and pain-cramped head
of tasks half-done and tasks to do
of confusion and smallness and inadequacy
of irritation and swallowed rage
of reflected pain, absorbed through the screen

crying because

and because

and because

the trees gloom at the window, dripping the remains of yesterday's rain
the washing, limp, draggled, moves listlessly in the half breeze

and everything feels wrong, catastrophically awry, even though
(speaking objectively)
the earth has not shifted in its course

and there is no rainbow to see, no colour
to cut the flatness of the clouds
inside.

- Kathy, 19/9/12