Trigger warning: Postpartum depression
In a giant washing machine
Tumbling, bruising
Do your best
Not to drown
In six inches of water
Gravity's law holds little sway
No psychological vestibular system
To properly orient you in space
The mind is relentless, conjuring Death’s claim
On the infant in arms
That owns your heart and soul
Food tastes like ash and water burns
Through Dante’s inferno
Your head faces your ass
Each concentric circle of internal torture is not contrapasso
There is no poetic justice
Refining your character
Absolution granted after endless trials
SSRIs and sleep
To repair a broken consciousness
And weary body
Grief departs with a turned back
Skulking away to melt into cerulean sky
Up is up and down is down once more
Joy creeps back in
Present in sticks and rocks
Collected by little hands who possess
A mighty grip
Perdurable treasure
In a temporal world
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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Comments (2)
Oh wow, this was so intense and hard hitting. Perdurable is a new word for me. Loved your poem!
This was so devastatingly visceral, Marie. A powerful piece.