Depression
Depression
There are times you need simply
to feel air.
The air does not ask
if it’s done enough in its life.
It just stirs,
or not; is what you’ve got,
this amplitude of air that sets
such an example–
making you think
about the too many who strove
for whatever air was there–some
you loved–
until you take that them
right into both arms.
Though most hollowed
to cheek and collar-bone, some were swollen
by their disease–yet, they seem to fit–
and you sit them
over your chest, trying to absorb
their collective will for breath,
becoming very still–
not exactly happier–but
quiet–for your chest must be still
to hold so many–
Some you have no right to hold
though they let you,
the dead so generous,
the dead willing
to sit with you.
*********************
Draftish sort of poem for Real Toads Open Platform. Pic is mine from the San Jeronimo church in Tlacochahuaya, Oaxaca.
Explore posts in the same categories: poetry, UncategorizedTags: http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com, manicddaily, On the Darker Side, poem about depression, Tlacochahuaya San Jeronimo church
You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.
ManicDDaily 
July 6, 2016 at 9:09 am
I went in several directions while reading, you made a tread-softly subject to be brought into the air. Towards the end I was thinking this was about helping a ‘down’ pet. Some of them lead worse than a ‘”dog’s life.”
I’m thinking about moving to Oregon when I need a final escape.
..
July 6, 2016 at 10:08 am
Ha. Oregon sounds nice but I might also recommend upstate New York.
July 6, 2016 at 3:34 pm
Depression is so insidious, I admire the sheer tenacity it must take to live with it on a daily basis, especially because it is so difficult for others to understand. Your poem provides a view beyond the myths.
July 6, 2016 at 5:23 pm
I love the lines about the dead being willing to sit with us. Which is good, as we so often need to sit with them.
July 7, 2016 at 4:02 am
The tenderness with which you encounter the blue liminal of depression — almost in tune with the song — what is it — “Hello Darkness, My Old Friend” — has that haunting intimacy of the old bad lover. What is the need “simply / to feel air”? A self-evicting nakedness, an embrace of “amplitude” where inside there may be none. Easier indeed that deed might be without the dead, embracing “their collective will for breath” — how difficult breathing becomes, with all the dead resting on one’s chest — it’s like giving up on air to bear witness to the world’s struggle for it. A suicidal gesture faithful, perhaps, in the end to the blue lover’s song. Very well done, friend.
July 7, 2016 at 8:32 am
A lyric poem on a difficult subject that manages to make a particular place feel hauntingly universal, and the dead very close and belonging.
July 7, 2016 at 5:01 pm
Perhaps it’ the weather, perhaps it’s my state of mind, but I found the poem “stifling”. I could not breathe properly whilst reading it. It’s excellent. It’s so good that it forces you to read it twice. With the same outcome.
Greetings from London.
July 7, 2016 at 5:02 pm
I was hoping to read my comment but it has disappeared in the ether. 🙂
Greetings from London.
July 7, 2016 at 5:11 pm
Thank you, Cubano. It showed up in this end. Thanks for the kind words. K.
>
July 9, 2016 at 11:53 am
This is something makes me think how light and tender, yet sharp depression can be… I like the use of “they”, as if there are thoughts that are causing pain in sting upon sting.
July 10, 2016 at 10:28 am
Depression is terrible on so many levels. I have had times when I have struggled through it and it was hard to see the light.
August 12, 2016 at 4:35 pm
The truth here