by Dave Clark
I go on a trip overseas and get these messages saying that I seem to be doing a lot more than usual I am making the most of packed-away moments and several people are still surprised and subtly criticise when they see me enjoy life Micro-aggressive texts contiki across continents to suck the steam from this dream holiday, making me feel like I’ve done something wrong whenever I do something fun I chase occasions that transcend chronic illness and yet words strike at these hard-fought steps, flattening the topography of my health, pounding it to a plateau of predictability until I'm standing on an Arctic butte veiled in pure snow and can only feel the stinging cold of their scolding As my knees fall into the frozen blanket spread beneath, I make a ball of their slush and sling it to where it belongs so that nature’s song can be heard again, the seraph sound of snowfall mixed with the playful giggles of someone so used to red desert dust Dave Clark is a reliable human with unreliable health. He is a writer-poet with chronic fatigue syndrome, living in Mparntwe (Alice Springs). His writing speaks into grief, illness, justice and how we love and laugh together. Dave works as a counsellor, creating space for stories of significance. Instagram/X: @DaveClarkWriter
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