the secret day

what is happening cannot be spoken

time is out

running out, running out

dream richly to myself

 

it's the last few days

of the purple room

happiness lives in the lighter shades

breathing sounds can’t escape the gloom

 

never not ever to be heard again

I must lose this winter loss

before jumping colors catch up

and I eat depression like power

 

like the fear of a metal slide

not able to stop once started,

feeling the electric zaps and

delayed colors, as I turn my head

 

I slept the afternoon’s memory away,

watched gone with the wind,

and ate my prescription, again:

which did not seem avoidable

 

we do all the same things that our ancestors did

only we may be less equipped than they ever were

even though we believe the opposite

went to my daughters to sleep

 

booked an entire trip to Iceland

went to the lake to see

a picture of the cliff at 5:01

a picture of falling at 5:03

This poem is about: 
My community

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