by Claire Taylor
What if I come out of this
having learned nothing
of the beauty in small pleasures
family time
balmy hush of the morning
the afternoon light
dances the same across the garden
whether I’m here to see it or not
depression is its own
kind of virus you know
insidious, resilient it
eats and breathes like
your sourdough starter though
I wouldn’t know I haven’t
baked any bread, put brush
to canvas, I went running even
though the internet told me not to
I haven’t learned
a different language a new
skill, how to sit with my
thoughts any better than
I used to. I forgot
all the things I know
about this disease how
it collapses on your chest
labored breaths, extreme fatigue
yes I’ve wondered if
I might die
forgive me if I’ve failed
to see the silver lining
I’ve been wearing a different kind of mask
Claire Taylor writes primarily about motherhood and mental health. Her work has appeared or is upcoming in Yellow Arrow Journal, The Loch Raven Review, Capsule Stories, American Writer’s Review, Canary Literary Journal, and more. She is the creator of Little Thoughts, a monthly newsletter of original stories and poetry for children. She lives in Baltimore, Maryland, and can be found online at clairemtaylor.com. On Instagram @todayweread. On Twitter @ClaireM_Taylor.
