By Lisa Huddleston

 

 

 

 

 

 

Depression is my hiding place

A dark closet into which I can dive

Sticking bare feet into someone else’s too-big boots

And tucking child body inside the fur-lined coat

That my mother rarely wears

 

They can look for hours

And call and yell my name

While I breathe into that dusty fur

Warming it with hot breath from my open silent mouth

The doors are opened and opened again

Not even one inch of myself is revealed

Making me shake with nervous laughter

 

Knowing I’ll never be found

Knowing I can stump them all

Knowing I can’t stay there forever

 

My stomach will grow empty

My bladder will grow full

My legs will grow tired of standing in those tall boots

My mother’s voice will grow angry and afraid

 

Something will make me leave my furry rabbit nest

And I will silently slip warm feet and warm arms

Out of their dark animal comfort

To tiptoe into the cold and prickly air of the too-bright day