Two poems for seasonal depression
From Blessings for the Long Night
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedThe Death of Leaves
You are not the leaves
which blaze with color every fall, then fall
ground into the ground.
Their death is not your death.
No, you are the tree, which moves its energy
down in autumn, to the roots, in ample store.
Bare branches best prepared
for winter cold and winter winds.
That's not to say the loss of leaves is not a loss.
The grief of losing all your color, your connection to the sun
is real grief. The stripping is a real stripping.
But as every fall speaks of coming spring
and every winter holds its end in its beginning
your own sap will rise again in longer light
nourishing every small branch
And you, tree, human, living creature
will grow green life again.
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedLast Time
The last time you were here
you felt so alone.
I did, too.
But if you recognize in these pages
the fear, the gut-sinking hopelessness
the feeling of falling into a deep pit without handholds
the bleakness of another coming winter
Then you'll know I've felt the way you feel
and I'll know you've felt what I feel.
And neither you nor I
need ever feel
so alone
again.
Both poems from Blessings for the Long Night, 2022.
