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depressionism
I bring out all my little substitution activities,
the old 2nd year psychology textbook, combing my hair,
re-wetting my contacts, counting the eyelashes,
a different number on each side,
arrange my fingers like a camera, look through them at my face in the mirror
all to keep from watching you, that little tear in your smile, sad at the edges,
tracing my lips as they form a half circle over the glass, sending generations
worth of disease down my throat, the oldest ancestor we can name was a horse thief,
caught drunk and hung dry, his DNA bound up inside my family like spurs,
I leave a little ring on the table, and your eyes finally catch mine, I say,
a shrug in my voice, first one of the day, you miss your part, and not the last,
finger going round and round the circle I’ve made, if this goes on much longer,
you’ll find your way out, the door’s been standing behind you the whole time,
the great big world glowing like an escape, leaving me with my substitutes,
and the thin dead sensation of being smashed flat, slipped under a drink and drowned slowly
they call it mithridatism
poisoning yourself little by little
until you’re safe, protected,
insides so thick they can’t crumble
I dosed myself every night
allowing you those cheap thrills
that shook your whole body with pleasure,
mithridates’ mother come to life
watching me cower under your words
but I found an opening, deep beneath my heart,
and I crawled with your loneliness and your despair
tumbling through my veins like rock slides
all the way to the other side
where it’s too bright, too loud, too much
but free and wholly mine
Kate Ladew a graduate from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro with a BA in Studio Arts.
Email: Kate Ladew
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