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

and tighter




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




©Old Bones, New Snow/J.A. Fink 2014

2 thoughts on “Unseen

  1. 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.



  2. 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.

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