"Mess" by Julene Tripp Weaver

My screams rail against the mad machine

My vomit against the edge of our clean sofa

My diseased cells grow quiet

Here with you day in and day out

We join over tea

We sit side-by-side, chair-by-chair

Read the Weeklies

You in your book 

Me on my phone

Our daily songs

A ritual of togetherness

How I yell a cat-storm hiss into the pure blue between us

We spar gladiator style at midnight when the moon is full

 

My mess up against your mess

Each month, year, decade passes

We age, fall into life’s crevices

We bend with the wind together