Phantoms

Pain. So much pain.
 when did it start? i
jog my memory - can't
recall.

Was it the day he struck
 me with the back of his
strong sinewy hand? Or the
 time i saw him approach
and felt a wet stream run
 down my legs?

Was it when i didn't want
 to go home from school - no
wait - the time I couldn't bring
 myself to go to work?
because i knew what awaited
 me for unhinging the cup-
board door - or was it not
 performing the way i thought
he needed me to? or was it packing
the
 washing away while it was
still damp - or him, or them,
 swearing at me from the
corridor?

Fear. So much fear.
Time warps. My
 ripe uterus coils up in
it - harder - every four weeks.
 My heart beats it, un-
predictably, but like
 clockwork at some point
every day.

What evokes it? is it
 really that i am feeling
death crawl up the arteries
 in my left arm, and is it
really death's spokes in
 my chest amidst a lunch
meeting - no when i travel
 across the world to check on
his health?

Why does the coiling up
 of my uterus feel so
comfortable compared to
death pull-
 ing at the strings of
my life-line on the daily?

yet at the same time why
 do they both cause
me equal but opposite anguish -
 complementary burdens -
partners in this product
 of angst and biology
of nature and nurture.