For my friends and family who share the periodic shadow of depression. Not all days are created equal….
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
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
©Old Bones, New Snow/J.A. Fink 2014
Sally- I feel as though I should file your comment under “poetry.” Interesting how many fewer comments and views a post tagged as “depression” receives. For those who live in that shadow more than I, the fact that it makes others uncomfortable makes dealing with the situation more difficult, more shameful. I’m grateful for your friendship.
Jeff, You look for patterns, I see textures and colors through your lens. “Unseen” captures the man with whom I lived for twenty-five years. In the end, when I stopped offering him brighter paints, and gave up the weight of making it better, he found a path, a new canvas and palette. Letting go, unseen, freed the patterns. textures and colors in both of our lives.