The business after departure puts a lump in my throat
It no longer matters if an outfit is flattering
Only that it is aptly somber for the occasion
And fitting enough to meet you in;
That last expression of repose
I wonder if I can truly accept it


Time runs uniquely to two
In circular or straightforward fashion
Like bright ribbons that stretch into the distance
Perhaps never meeting
Perhaps meeting when one is too newly dyed
Perhaps meeting when one has frayed for quieter spaces
Ah, what meaning is there to think:
If we had only met earlier or later?
The now is all that matters
The now is the miracle or the great sadness



During a crisis, I once asked my mother if she were ever happy
And with shaking voice, she replied she had never been
Since she married my father
My heart plummeted
Would I suffer the same fate?
But it must be a lie
These photographs show a woman, young and content
Brimming with joy and love for the children in her arms
How easily we believe
“We will never be happy again”
When we are sad

The Negative

Where is trouble kept?
Worry and sadness and anger
If I could, I would banish them into nothingness
But why must dislodging it from my heart
Put a shadow of it in yours?
A hydra which grows twice as many heads
As those that are cut and lopped
I heave a rusted sword and can only hope


I did not know depression until it robbed me of movement. I shutter my windows against the sunshine, thinking it too loud, when before it would have been a welcome invitation. I find myself lying in bed for hours, drifting to sleep, waking and drifting again, letting dreams coalesce like sand in a shaken bottle, settle deep into my psyche. I do not look too long into them; their bitter conclusions present themselves as truths. Even in dreams, my mind finds no relief. It only combs cobwebs into a great mass, sad glimmers, a heavy egg sack on my heart.