Momentary Respite

one day, you’re going to
choke on the lump that
sits in the hollow of your throat.

you’ll wheeze and struggle to pull
in a breathe and you’ll cough and
you’ll cough in the hope that

you’ll dislodge it and all the while
you know you never will; it’s a
permanent fixture stuck there from

years of pain and sadness and hurt.
it’s an invisible scar that opens
from time to time and bleeds out but

you can’t put a plaster on it. it’s
an open wound that won’t ever close,
a gash in you that stitches won’t heal.

and if, in time, someone sews it shut,
it will only ever be temporary.