A Small Depression

There is the darkness that I recognize, that is visible in me to others, that I see in others,

that I see coming: it begins with a headache, usually, and always I attribute it initially to allergies

or a cold, not wanting what I know is coming, easier to pretend that it is only passing, only just a small illness.

During the worst of it, it is impossible to keep a thought, or make plans or lift my eyes

past the cloud within myself, the dull anger at being useless, the helplessness -- nothing -- the future and past drips away

leaving a grey background against which I find myself in a chair, unshowered, not eating, staring

out the window, waiting. It lasts for a day or two usually, the worst of it, as if there was a commercial break

and the actors and crew had simply left the set, left me, and continued with the rest of the movie

while I wait for my part to begin again. I see this in others: the wan smile, the hopeless searching in the eyes,

the directionless movement to just keep moving. I recognize the blurry outline, the cloud behind the eyes,

the staring out from deep within. They see it in me as well, sharing our drowning, unable to help,

we can only watch. The days the darkness comes tend to be sunny and bright, oddly enough,

when the world outside bubbles and pops, teeming, vibrating. The hum of life and the movement forward. There is nothing

for me there: evolution and commerce, soccer practice and humility, laughing and forgetting, school, work, play -- even now,

my words to describe it are limited to abstractions, unable to remember what was, what will be

just outlines of the world as it should be.