Empty platter

I passed it on, you see. To you.

What you’d lost - in a lather of kindness, no motivation.

Just Giving. They call that a website – but it’s a simple truth as well you see; it ogles you.

That’s me over there, picking out the gorse from my arse as I fall, smarting from spine and thorn,

Picking out hurt – Julius gawping at his supposed mates.

There was no motivation.

But to you I’m a line from an Eastenders script; one about not knowing the infanticide of gift.

I spit Time into a bowl as it gyrates the fluff of barbed wire, smirks as fingers bleed,

Crumbles over the cat’s cradle. Empty now - I’ve given away all.

There’s one last chance for you, an acceptance.

But my tears uncry in your silence, coins phantom weights behind lids.

Grit in the soil of dis-acknowledgement.

Hesitation destroyed light, diminished moths that might have fluttered between us.

Benevolence on an empty platter, passed to you now without feeling or sauce.

Disappointment, not regret - as I wanted to pass it to you.

Servings now cold.

Because as you see, I did this for you.

Julieanne Mountford 20/4/2022