It starts small A turned knob An open door Well hello Old friend How have you been? A memory stirs With a wicked hand A light goes out You’ve closed the door But it doesn’t matter You’re not alone The whispering starts And the tears come Because you know Depression Always uninvited Tends to overstay


If I were a box I’d be a plain box No fancy ribbons No pretty wrap Filled with joy Along with sadness Filled with dreams It won’t share Because it’s a practical Useful box A helpful box Never a gift Just handy It’d hold diapers Until needed Bills until paid Receipts for taxes Seasonal fruit…