Processing

Some days the words are slow to form,
and my mind is as empty as the lines
on the waiting pages. Hours pass
before I notice the soft tapping of sleet
against the window, reminding me
of the time I ran across the sidewalk
at grandma’s house, and my foot slipped
on the ice. I hovered parallel to the ground
before crashing hard upon my back.
For a moment I could not catch my breath,
and I blinked in wonder when the stars
watched me gasp for the freezing air.

Autumn

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I began my morning walk
not knowing when I’d return.
I had time, or rather,
time had me by the hand
and led me somewhere
I had not been. A field
with wild grass stretched
to every horizon except
for one tree whose leaves
were the colors of dusk.
I stayed a while past lunch,
my pockets full of things
I thought I had lost.

Fragmented

My burdens are invisible,
internal struggles, depression
whose weight grows each year.

It hasn’t always been this way.

Not like this fading tide recedes
into the deep with wreckage spinning
underneath the constant waves.

 

 

* * *

I’m doing better now than I was when I wrote this poem. If you are dealing (or have dealt) with depression, there can come a day when the waves are calmer and the storm subsides.