She’s Not There

I’ve been avoiding her. No, not her exactly but I’ve been avoiding the street on which she’s been living. It’s too much. And in the morning I just want to clean myself out, in my head, that is. And she weighs heavy. I feel bad. I should face it, all of it. All of the misery that others have to bear. But sometimes I want to take another street. She wasn’t there. I went along that street without thinking this morning and she wasn’t there. No bags, no dying plants in pots, nothing. It had rained quite heavily. Was she sheltering somewhere? I felt a pang. Had someone come to her rescue? Could she be rescued?

I dreamt that he was trying to push me up a very steep escalator. I think I was in a wheelchair. I felt unsteady, scared. I might fall. He didn’t seem able to contain me. I saw several men behind him trying to help, to keep me upright and climbing.

Still grumpy this morning. I can’t shake it off. Will work help?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.