A Relief

“As if he were her topmost twig”
—Ted Hughes, ‘Revenge Poem’

I know why you laugh—cackle—
So loudly, uncontrolled and bleak, responsible
For too much of you. I am edging, fairly,
Towards wanting your ultimate release,
Though I will not quite
Will it: I understand
The theory but concrete
Watering a rose? It is more
Thesis, antithesis,
Synthesis I feel the embodiment
Of all three, as old
As at the beginning of us: you, a step for me,
As I was yours: I do not need your guilt now, but thank you.

You get some credit in this despite
How they paint our roles. It is a horrid business:
No wonder you cackle! But realistically the whole
Story needs some love: I see
Your type everywhere, holding themselves in,
Caught in rage; and roses
Are still made—stood on—
When there could have been neither road
Nor petal. I do not want this to come out
As it does, expressed
And not understood as good as it should. Fortunately
For you it does, and you are able to die
Quietly, because of me; though something

Is still missing. There was deep pain here.
And there is still a rose with silent
Veiled thorns, because we must
Protect our elders: it knows
It can bloom as you did not: feel
How exquisite I have learned to be. I still must watch
Watch watch this existence from the sidelines, composed,
Critiqued and ostracised for your safety, for now. I cannot
Even say your role in lines; I cannot
Feel good about the craft. I finish it
Unsatisfied respectful alone with my thorns, crossed
For what I should not be
Knowing it ends with a rose, in time.