NEW FEATHERS ANTHOLOGY
  • Home
  • Current Issue
  • Issues
  • About
  • Submit
  • New Feathers Award
  • Donate
  • Bookshop
  • Thanks
Previous
Next
Picture
Edvard Munch, Woman's Head Against the Shore (Art Institute of Chicago)
Depression
Jane Ellen Glasser


​If it were a thing I could take aim at,
an arrow at the heart of a tangible beast,
I’d feel better.
 
If it had a body, I could slam a door
in its face and turn the four locks
of fear like a big city girl.
 
If it had a number, I could erase it
from my cell phone, my rotary index,
the white pages of my brain.
 
If it had a name and address,
I could put on my judge’s black robe
and issue a restraining order.
 
If it were wild, I could tame it,
extract its claws, teach it obeisance
with the strop of my tongue.
 
And yet, if it had not stuck to me
like shadow, followed me home
through deserted streets
 
to move into my rooms,
if it had not turned off the lights
and spooned beside me in bed
 
nights for so many years,
could I be, would I be happy
to be so unloved?
Previous
Next
Tweet
Share
  • Home
  • Current Issue
  • Issues
  • About
  • Submit
  • New Feathers Award
  • Donate
  • Bookshop
  • Thanks