Unseen

For my friends and family who share the periodic shadow of depression.  Not all days are created equal….

selfportrait.sundance

Unseen

The barrage of advice

is endless. Use your brightest

colors, sharpest lines, be cheerful!

But eventually, we each must paint

with whatever colors we see, especially

on days like this, when your heart feels like a large

dead fish—cold and heavy and hard, when the air

has gone to syrup and all of space thickens

sinking down around your head like a dark

sheet drawn tight

and tighter

still

 

 

There are no yellows here no

gold. Today is a day for purples

and black, for indigo and blood-

red, for fat brushes marking wide sluggish

stokes over the canvas, of just trying to cover the cracks

and leave no white corners, no spaces, then signing

the work by pressing your face full-on

into the thick black paint in the

corner in the hope that you

might finally escape

this day

unseen

 

 

©Old Bones, New Snow/J.A. Fink 2014

maybe it began

Image

 

maybe it began

 

maybe it began as a small room

in a small house, a blue spread

on a bed, a wooden dresser

a window, a rug on a wooden floor.

home, the place of origin, a place

to be from — going out and coming

back and going out again. did

such a place really exist, or did I

need to invent it?  a friend

once told me one sure measure

of happiness is how much of this world

we can willingly accept. I so

want to know the truth, any

truth, to be certain of something

inside this living question of a life.

but it seems there’s no arriving

only leaving, and leaving again

no rising beyond the chaos –

only, if blessed, a rising into. only

an acceptance of this perpetual rain

of phenomenon – falling, then freezing

melting and rising again, and then again

rain, merging into the gathering stream

as it runs headlong down to the sea, rushing

back to the source, rushing

as it always must, toward home.

 

 

 

 

© old bones, new snow/ J.A. Fink 2014