Sometimes when she screams
The violence of her emotions
Is only matched by mine
In a growing tide of anger that threatens to overwhelm us both,
Drowning us in this relationship where too close really IS too close,
Where we really shouldn’t be doing these things to each other.
Perhaps our love would be easier if we were more distant,
Perhaps we should handle with tongs, and then delicately,
All those deep feelings that we arouse in each other,
Perhaps we should try - just try -
To love each other a little less.
Would that work ?
I imagine a colder me,
Someone who never shouts,
Who gives distant, odd little cuddles,
Who’s reasonable and calm and never loses his cool.
But then I imagine the tragedy I’d see in her eyes,
And I realise that being close has a price,
And that paying that price is what I’m doing.
Oct. 2001
Here’s a lovely poem by Jim Bouder about the emotional intensity of bringing up a child - My Autistic Son. A lovely line in there - ‘… autistic shackles bind his speech …’
And here’s another poem, by Sharon Olds, called The Clasp
