Some of the newer poems I’ve been working on deal with the comparative improvement in my depression over the last few months (and the elimination of extra pharmaceutical problems). Here are two of those, the first from last fall, when I was just getting through the medication withdrawal and starting to reemerge.
I’m having feelings again. I can’t tell you
which. I’ve forgotten their names.
Like small mammals, they creep
through the brush, leery of giants’ feet.
The small mammals evolved into lions-and-tigers-and-bears-oh-my since then. The next poem is from a couple weeks ago; I wrote the first draft on the way to print a proof copy of a chapbook dealing with my stints (thus far) on a psychiatric ward.
If anyone were near enough on the Sunday-empty
campus, they’d hear in the shortness of my breath
not the labored pant but the heated gasp
of being a physical body among physical
bodies—tree and lamppost, concrete and sky—
’til inattention turns my steps to the main street
and quiets me. I let my hair fall before my face
’til I can reappear as social animal and conceal
the bliss of muscle pulling bone under skin.