Depression Poetry

DEPRESSION by Janet McCann

I think of my parents living through it,

spaghetti with home-grown tomatoes for dinner,

an egg for breakfast. Downturn, slump.

I feel it in my stomach, hollow, hole,

concavity, dent, lack of roundness,

off-kilter sphere. There are pills for it

of course, they smooth out the sharp shards

at the bottom of the dent, but the declivity

is still there. “Hard times,” my grandfather

said. They lived mostly on the kitchen

garden. Preserves. I saw the jewels of their jars

shining on basement shelves. Slowdown. Standstill.

I have the megrims. There is a crater

in the macrocosm, nothing

is filling it up.

Janet McCann is a Texas crone poet who is retired from Texas A&M University.