My Good Friend, Depression

It’s funny how he steals

Every drive to move forward,

Like a bug on a rose –

Unnoticed until all the petals

Crumble.

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Homemade Pasta Sauce

Five pounds of garden tomatoes,

Planted in the few peaceful moments of months of grief,

With Romanza in the background

As onions and garlic and wine bubble.

I remember cold ski vacations of Dad in the kitchen, blaring Italian, making pasta and meatballs, mom laughing.

No wonder they call it comfort food.

Trying to find yourself is like

Wondering what home looks like

As you sit on the couch by the fire,

Family laughing with you,

With no where else to be.

Like God, we simply are.

Why Aren’t you Over This? It’s been six months.

First off – fuck you.

Let’s see you watch the blood come from your mothers mouth dead after minutes of cpr you knew was hopeless.

Let’s see you when two months later your grandmother dies slowly

And then a week later your grandfather dies slowly.

And then two days later your childhood dog dies in your brothers arms.

Let’s see you handle watching your fathers only remaining parent lose the will to live and die most slowly of all, over months

And months, each day fearing and begging for the call it’s over.

Good luck staying on your feet.

Good luck waking up, going to work, doing the dishes and holding your broken family together.

Because you will absolutely fail. And what are you going to do then?

5 Months

Today is five months since we lost you.

It feels so short

And so long.

Next month they say we should be better.

We may get better at this new life,

And appear to move on as we garden, work and plan,

But death is not fixable.

Death is an ever-present partner carried at the chest,

Wondering who will be next,

And if I will be ready for more ghosts.