depression · grief · loss · mental health

untitled

i do not recognize her,
the round-cheeked, round-bellied zombie with the sad eyes
who catches my gaze in windows, cars, and
medicine cabinets these days.
she is run ragged
thick-jowled, furrow-browed, angry.
she carries a grief backpack loaded with wet rocks,
the extra weight causing poor posture and a misaligned hip.
she says things like “ahh! my hip flexors!”,
dresses like a hostess might the day after guests leave-
bleach-stained shirt,
cut-off sweats,
knees raw from scrubbing floors,
leftovers dried with abandon where she has wiped
her hands on her thighs rather than walking
the seven steps required to fetch a napkin

she is old
which is not to be confused with elderly
old, as in no longer young
old, as in the age you are when you start receiving more
invitations to funerals than weddings.
eye cream old

she swears off aperitifs and nightcaps
chases morning meds with tap water
thinks of gym memberships during bouts of insomnia
wears guilt like clothing
she is the before picture in a supplement advertisement
the blue-collar worker after a long shift
a cautionary tale in grief

i do not recognize her

 

smudged

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

One thought on “untitled

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s