“My sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
are beautiful as days can be.”
~ Robert Frost
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sadness makes herself at home again
and my limbs stay by my sides,
weighed down to begin with,
defeated without a fight.
She grins at me
over the rim of her cup
and reminds me of how much
it takes to stay afloat,
I forget I’d realized
my freedom to leave,
another leaden sip
burns down my throat.
