The Medical Bag (The First Time I was told by medical diagnosis of depression)
The medical bag opens and out comes
Instruments; of ruddy background
Country and city, rural and urban,
The calf-legged instruments; reads my heart
And softly falls to the floor, as I outdo even runners
Your million arm runners, your relatives?
Are they even mentioned in your will?
That is loneliness the bag left opened for the cyanide to see,
the crystals, the baggage, the longing
On our walk home
I forgot that you told me that you loved me.
In the confusion
The outposts in India
Rapture wares and soft cashmere scarves
Wrapping around me like a butterfly net, wraps
Around a cocoon of silk. It is forgotten; it took
Me 20 minutes to get ready & we are not on the
Second course before I called the police.
No shifting time; I called anything
Not even an appetizer to cure the growth
Of the why did you have to hurt me?
It is with the knife that skewers my bones.