poem: Three of Five

Depression is a rotten melon

a vapid space, a stench

where supposedly something

substantive was to be found.

 

not a thing itself, but a lack of a thing,

devoid of substance,

a nebulous foot placed

on tremulous ground, climbing

hills comprised of ball bearings

and grease.

 

and so, I share this with you, too

not just my fullness,

but also, the emptiness I fight;

this waiting space, this reality-

unmasked, not painted

to resemble something else.

 

a single tear in an ocean of salted

disappointments, fallout both from

errors and hard choices made right.

 

spinning wheels of fortune,

or directed where feet were meant,

to meet? I ask questions with no

firm answers. I can lie by day, by

omission, mostly.

 

But it is impossible to lie, either to you

or to my poetry. Maybe I just see

you as poetry.

 

speaking of wheels, the Buddhists

say we reform, in circles, a whirling

sawblade that excises the ego

of what does not serve, false faces,

places outgrown like tiresome ditches.

 

to continue is brutal, it involves the

hacking of limbs, bleeding out,

limping forward, regeneration

of tissue damaged

 by the process of growth.

 

opening new doors requires cutting;

through fears, through iron chains,

through silver mists. Through walls,

into new spaces, new risks.

 

risks that the one we love most

can utterly destroy us. the same rain

that nourishes, also washes away

the ground from beneath our steps;

the sun that warms, can be that

force of dessication in the desert.

 

yet sometimes, things do actually

turn out as one hopes. seeds sprout,

and improbably, are protected as

new tenderness develops, forms.

 

depression feeds in dark cold places,

it always withers when its power

is reduced by sunlight and warmth.

 

I might as well open my heart, to you.

if I do not open it to someone,

It will never open for anyone.

 

 

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

This is a beguiling mix of legal brief logical progression mixed smoothly with a heartfelt expression of hope and fears and love. You've made this look easy; it ain't.