And then

Your dog’s not pregnant,

The doctor says.

Heart, kidney, gall bladder, bowel

But no blobs

Empty.

And I’m fine.

I knew this was possible.

My friend squeezes my hand,

and texts her husband,

he sends an emoticon with tears.

There’s none from me.

We walk the dogs a block or so, then

take them back to the cars, shaded from the morning sun.

We walk down the street,

Pointing out shops where we’ve found nice things

before,

just talking.

I buy the coffees and a strawberry tart to share,

We sit outside and sip and talk

Calm and matter of fact.

I always knew this was possible.

Later, as I drive, my eyes sting

behind large black sunglasses

The Sad, takes root inside

and grows wide.

The vines curl around my heart

They hurt, but I won’t t tear them off

and cast them far away

As I might like to.

Cracked dreams are crumbling,

Tumbling down the sides

of a vast sinkhole.

I peer over the edge, to

the wreckage below.

I wander restless

Around the house.

I touch her and the Sad

grips me hard again.

Her love shines

No super model, she,

But still the face of indescribable beauty.

We walk to the beach.

She’s quiet.

Little jagged rocks

of disappointment, of how unfair’s,

are strewn along our path.

Bright coloured shards of self pity

Draw my eye,

But I don’t pick them up

And carry them with me.

There’s no blame, no explanation,

That will salve this pain.

There’s just the hot sting on my face,

as I watch my dreams burn on a pyre

Stacked high with work and hope and love,

That I will watch until it’s down

to soft, cold ashes.

And then.