Stress

The solid soul of my disease
seeps into my body, into muscle tautness,

like slow sap in the dry and twisted stems
of wild olives trees in the old Karoo,

till I can scream. I live in silence,
trying to hold it in, surviving

on the breaking edge, wondering
if I should stop working, quit caring.

Or maybe I’ll let the pain wash over

like the Wilgerboom River this spring,
flowing through the dry Karoo
over slate that has been sun-heated
for seasons,

relaxing now into river-being.

 - Brian Walter