[question asked by Raymond Soulard]
I came home elated, loved, publishing,
free from shackles clamped around wrists
in my blue period of melancholy.
The snow was falling. Watching it
felt like the sedative before an operation.
Count backward from a hundred, &
by fifty-seven, bliss. I woke up
with angst removed like a tumor
that could be cancer or just a blight.
Wanted to share, but found that no others
slipped into hospital gowns.
Those around me & those I met
encrusted themselves in rot.
I would’ve given them my happiness.
No one wanted it. How they loathed the snow.
Published on September 1st, 2022
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