Flags Fly Half Mast

A poem about ND parental burnout and the coming home

“On a ship, flying a flag at "half-mast" is a solemn tradition indicating mourning and in the past, a distress signal”

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The flags of our relationship fly at half mast most of the year

Other parents enjoying wine and nibbles watching the latest series on Netflix

I’m half hanging out the cot bed, too scared to move away from the barnacle child who can’t sleep without touching my neck skin

You downstairs comatose on the couch recovering from six day weeks for the past six years

Too tired to talk

Too touched out to cuddle

It doesn’t last they said, everyone has one bad sleeper

We said, try having two

Inhaling chocolates on the toilet just so I won’t get caught by the kids; or you

Just to enjoy one stolen moment that is all mine

Couples therapy is all good if at least one of you can carry the burden of the inferior other half; when you’re both colouring outside the lines of typical, things are more complicated

Empathy is seen as weakness

Hugs feel claustrophobic

Praise is akin to pulling teeth

Overwhelm is a constant third wheel

When we’re alone you want skin on skin in a silenced room, lights on, sheets off

I want space, lights off, sheets on whilst recalling every interaction I’ve had in that day and all the many holidays I’ve booked but will inevitably cancel just before the free cancellation period

The flags of our relationship fly half mast most of the year but occasionally the ships in which they fly, drop anchor into a serene and secluded bay

When they do it’s sheets on, lights off, skin on top of skin

Flags flying full mast

Photo by Raimond Klavins on Unsplash