I wake up slow, dreams lingering, whether good
or dark or strange, they hold
my arms and whisper. I wake up slow
and stumble through routine, because routine
is another kind of medication for me,
an antidepressant that doesn’t come inside
orange bottles. I have to want it.
Breakfast. Meds. Reading something spiritual and then
there is coffee and the kids are gone to school and the house
is quiet for a while. I am slow though -
slow to get started.
Dishes rinsed and in the dishwasher, and the coffee
drips into the cup and
should I pack boxes or work on a project?
I have an essay due and the floor needs to be mopped.
Up the hill of the day until
the school bell rings and the kids come home,
and I am tense, trying to balance one son’s moods and
the other’s exuberance with my own
exposed nerves, no pills entirely shielding
me from this.
I ride the wave,
and the black water swirls
no hurricane today,
just a bathtub draining.
Back down the hill, I am Sisyphus,
until the sun sets and the clock blinks an okay time
I fall into the fresh cleaned sheets
and vivid dreams...