Apr/May 2019 Poetry |
Excerpted imagery from photography by Kris Saknussemm
Depression Shows Up Like a Pimple-Spotted Teen
To take a nap, to take a drag—hell—
to smoke the whole pack, to point out what is not
or doesn't, like what love doesn't look like:
a golf green browned
where sun sunk his fiery teeth,
a badly bruised apple Eve bit
into and spit out like a coward,
like the runt of the rose garden at the end
of her row, next to a neighboring weed,
who—daily—forces his spindly arms around her,
no matter how often she scratches him
with her thorny nails.