When your daughter is depressed
and she sees herself in the tub,
under the water, you feel yourself
with liquid lungs trying to give her
mouth to mouth resuscitation.
But, you swallow more and more
molecules, choking and spattering,
gasping for air as you watch her
When you walk into her room and
she’s under the covers,
pulled up to her chin, giving you
that blank yet scared stare
of loneliness and despair,
you feel so helpless, as a mother,
not knowing what to do.
The black cloud hovers above her.
She looks tiny in that dark hole.
You reach down,
to grab her hand, pull her out
of the well, but
it’s too far; your arm is not
long enough, and she’s not even