Scream

It's down there deep,

"The Scream" by Edvard Munch (1893) -
We've all felt like that figure on the bridge.
Today, writing about the feeling
kept me relatively quiet.

well-rooted,

rotting compost

coaxing it to grow,

composure goes

and now it shoots, 

it spews, the atmosphere

imbued with teardrops

falling rain-like

all around, the sound

like tiny screams

upon the surface of

my skin and then,

the mother of all screams

releases, giving birth

to some misshapen horror

of frustration pent up,

held at bay too long.

Now spent, the air is cool

and moist, and after the

eruption, almost noiseless

save a heartbeat slowing 

down, deep breaths,

control regained, the strain 

now past, the tempest tamed,

chaos calmed,

just holding on,

holding on 

a little longer.

Holding.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2015