How The Queen Got Out of Check

Such an ordinary Sunday

Lazing around

Chatting on the phone

to my kid sister

so young and helpless,

being bounced around.

My emotions begin churning again.

I know what must happen one day,

and I am terrified.

Today?

I know I must make the call yet again.

I did before, years ago,

you turned your back on me and

stabbed me through the heart.

Love so frail now, such a small trickle.

Choked faucets never flow freely.

The risk is shutting it off.

Sweating and tingly I pick up the phone.

You answer

I can feel the black vomit

churning and burning my gut,

gnawing for the cataclysmic release.

Creating an insurmountable wall of fire

that always stops me in my tracks

Can’t move in any direction.

The Queen is in Check.

Then it is pricked.

It comes with your soothing words,

“talk to me”

With no care where it was sent

into my carefully compartmentalized life,

The vomit came.

A trickle to test the waters.

“Talk to me”

Then, it broke.

A rushing, gushing, surging,

tumult of words and emotions.

Black vile exploding outwards

Like dangerous fireworks,

reaching every corner of my soul

Burning, destroying, consuming, devouring.

White hot rage pouring out

Like an abscess pierced

Scalding tears

Then soothing relief,

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

And it was over.

Just – like – that.

The Queen was free to move.

And move she did.

The next day.

Judi Opager

2020