Depression, Shapeshifter

by krstaten

i.

Today it is tall,
ghastly, a phantom
draped in tatters.
It is a walking cliche,
cloaked in black, hooded,
all looming and gangling
like Death herself
in all the cartoons

ii.

Today it is a seamstress,
sewing and patching
all the holes shut
so that nothing
dangerous
can escape

iii.

Today it is a marble.
I carry it in my pocket
where I hope it falls out,
but yesterday
the seamstress
did a good job.
Today, I say, it is a marble
ready to lodge itself
in my throat
or in my veins
or wherever it can find
room

iv.

Today it is a moth,
and I am a flame.
Or maybe it’s the other
way around. Either way
something is burning
and it is either me
or a very fragile pair
of wings

v.

Today it is my lover.
She likes it rough–claw
marks down my back,
bruises. She likes me
to remember
that I am hers.
In the morning she wraps me
in sheets, envelops me
so lovingly,
tells me
not
to
leave.
I listen. I call in to work,
tell them, migraine,
and I stay with her
all day long

vi.

Today it is the deadbolt.
I am afraid when
it does not lock.
I am afraid
of who might
get in

vii.

Today it is the ice on the window.
I know that there is
a playground outside,
painted red; a willow
with swaying curtain branches;
children becoming kings
before their own
very
eyes
While I watch blurred colors
and listen to their
muffled laughter

viii.

Today it is the wind.
I cannot hear the children.
Perhaps they have all gone home.

ix.

Today I cannot see it.
It is all of them,
maybe.
I take a hot shower,
make lunch,
sit at the kitchen table
for hours
and put together a puzzle
shaped like a
library.
Water the flower seeds
I keep in the window sill
even though I know
that in January
they cannot grow.
I watch sunlight shatter
through prisms of ice
and think about Spring,
close my eyes
and pretend it is
tomorrow. This is how
I make it through
the winter.

x.

Today I water the flower seeds
again.

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