• About

A Life in Poems

~ Exploring my life, my memories, and my dreams through poetry

A Life in Poems

Tag Archives: bipolar

The Pot of Red Geraniums

01 Sunday Jun 2014

Posted by willow1945 in Mental Illness, Poetry, Relationships

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

affair, bipolar, London, Love, poetry, Relationships

London, 1969

I almost came alone; my husband, convinced
the plane would crash into the ocean,
wanted to get off until I said I would go
without him. I didn’t know
he hoped in London to escape from guilt,
though I’d guessed of the affair.

Once we arrived, I found a room. My husband,
sunk into himself, refused to leave the bed.
At night he fought nightmares galloping
through his sleep: his mother’s face, distorted,
melting; the two of us in his father’s car, bursting
into flames, and others that he wouldn’t tell.
I couldn’t think, didn’t know, could only put
one foot in front of the other, so I bought bread
and cheese and eggs and soup at the little market
down the street, heating them on our hotplate,
and for Christmas a plum pudding in a can.
He only told me later of the abortion.

The day after Christmas we headed for home,
out of money, lugging our suitcases
down the narrow street.
He wouldn’t talk, his eyes darting
here and there. Heavy clouds oppressed
London that fall and winter, but only now
I feel his terror
as his life descended
into mania and depression;
back then my only thought,
to get him on the plane.
A pot of red geraniums, shining like a lighthouse,
sat upon a windowsill we passed.

Oh, look, I said, and pointed at the flowers.
They can’t be real, can they? In winter, in London?
He looked at them. See the double-decker bus?
The next one is ours. We’ll be there before it comes.

He nodded. On and on, my one-sided
conversation about everything I saw, each time
pulling him out of himself for a second:

red-haired little girl, boy on a blue bicycle,
bus driver with the too-small hat, dog
with three legs, blind woman playing the violin
outside the Tube station, stewardess with hair
the color of Goldfinger’s girlfriend, fat man
in the window seat in front of us with the apocalyptic
snore, crying baby who couldn’t be comforted.
For my husband there was no way back,
but on and on and on I went, and the endless wave
of my chatter carried us across the ocean.

Advertisement

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 173 other subscribers

Categories

  • Ancient ways
  • Books
  • Childhood
  • death
  • Dreams
  • Emotions
  • Family
  • flying
  • Friends
  • Healing
  • Love
  • Mental Illness
  • Nature
  • Past Lives
  • Poetry
  • psychic awareness
  • Reflections
  • Relationships
  • Sexual Abuse
  • Spirituality
  • Uncategorized

Recent Posts

  • At the Nutcracker Ballet December 20, 2014
  • CHANGE OF PLANS December 20, 2014
  • Raymond Carver: Grief September 29, 2014
  • Jim Moore: Lightning at Dinner September 24, 2014
  • Housework September 20, 2014

Recent Comments

willow1945 on At the Nutcracker Ballet
Vlad Zaycev on At the Nutcracker Ballet
Quicksilver rain, sl… on Raymond Carver: Grief
willow1945 on At the Nutcracker Ballet
Sabra Bowers on At the Nutcracker Ballet

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Follow Following
    • A Life in Poems
    • Join 173 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • A Life in Poems
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar