Showing posts with label Depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Depression. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

depression, acute



how do i tell her
it may get darker,
the night longer—

what i know
from my hollow
and vacant days?

the night may stretch you
thinner
than you ever thought
you could be stretched

by damp sheets
twisted at your wrists, elbows,
knees, ankles—

and you welcome it.
because getting up

and facing the day
feels like
a vortex of mud
and shrapnel

covered in bits of
your flesh
and blood—

pieces of you
missing
in action.

and now
you are stuck
to inaction.

you don’t know
how
or where you will find
the switchblade
to cut yourself
loose
from its mocking
grin

to begin your life
again.

i don’t mean
it’s hopeless;
i never mean that.

i just know
encouragement
to face the day

cooks longer
on the grill
than

some pre-packaged smile
someone will try to hand
you—

like a flippant curse
to your inability
to rise above
and simply “be happy” now.

as if they have some idea
that depression and happiness
are not even at war
anymore.

you’re caught
in the fallout,
the aftermath.

like a personal chernobyl,
the long-term effects
are still being accounted for.

but i tell her
you can
because
i did—

and move the blade
a little closer.



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Monday, October 14, 2013

Amaranthine


photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner



Just outside this circle of light
the mood of sky is darkening
as sprinkles of rain are turning to floods.

I feel I won’t drown this time,
awash in ash, as deep autumn burns out,
thrusting the baton to barrenness.

Stained on the caverns of my heart
are four amaranthine trees.
Their branches and leaves are arms and handprints,
shoring up each chamber.
Their colors are lanterns,
bright and glowing.

This heart has been made rich and fertile;
this ship has beacons, reasons,
to remain buoyed and sustained.
By them I am helped to weave my way,
even when the dark bleeds thick
upon my mind, poisonous and looting.

I have found in their eyes
warm respite from the seeping cold of lifeless hollows
and cradle the hope that is anchored
in the breath and vitality
that each of their smiles light
to bring me home.



© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For my four sons and all they have had to understand in my struggle with depression.  Ever yours ~ Mom.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Bloodless March



today
i can tell you what
a dried orange peel feels like
hanging on—
barely
wrapped in yesterday’s color
now a duller shade
possessed by winter
contained in the glass bowl of night
where mango and cinnamon
and cardamom
die on my lips scented citrus
nut hard and inedible
a shade
of passion’s fruit
wheeled out on gurneys
of seasons past




Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Emily (Hope Kicks)


hope
kicks
you
when you need it

if you must
cry
scream (it’s unfair)
swear (every word you can think of)
snot running,
mascara flowing
down your chin
allow it
for one hour
or one day
eat chocolate
eat the cake
the whole damn thing
pity party
like there’s no tomorrow
if that’s what it takes
and then
you get up       

Get      

Up

big girl
get off the floor

it won’t let you stay there

hope
kicks
you
when you need it

reminds you
it is the thing
with feathers

and wings that sing
your truth to you
when you’ve forgotten
how to fly        



Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Inspired by my all time favorite poem by Emily Dickinson, “Hope” is the thing with feathers.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Slough


i wish to
shed this skin
of pain
of discontent

like a clinging, wrinkled
dress
crumpled
rolled around in
and pulled—
s  c  r  a  p  e  d
o  f  f

w
  i
g
  g
l
  e
d

out of

twisted
at my ankles

and dropped
like my
eyelids—

to drool into
the hair
of your chest

the pads
of your fingers
in that place
in the groove
of my back

hearing
no voices
and feeling
only
the breath
of your hungry mouth
satisfied


Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

I'll be linking to dVerse with the amazing poets who gather there for OpenLinkNight.  

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Gloom



cobwebs thick upon your hands
dirt underneath your nails
embedded deep

buried
            alive

you feel the crust
of tears and dirt
stuck to your lashes
            your nostrils

choking
you make shallow breaths
repeat your name

you are

not                   dead                 yet

remind yourself
to come back
to the living

keep scratching and clawing

out
of
the
dark

someone will need

your survival story one day



Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner