Yes I picked another poem; no I haven’t really looked at it, as I am deep in the dark place. The Dark Place, a location my son found and named when he was little. He used to tell me when he was depressed or scared.
“Mama, I am in the dark place and there is a sign that reads, the dark place, population one, you.” It was so spot on, and I have co-opted it and continue to use it to identify when I can’t seem to get out of the way of my own sad, dark time.
I wanted to write epoch or era instead of time, as it seems as if I am really stuck here. I have been turned down for all the jobs in my pipeline of possibility, My daughter has been let go from her job, which was not her favorite place to be, and yet she seems undeterred by it all. Ahh the value of youth.
Here is the March Poem
By Elizabeth Macklin
In the tropical glass of a cool, foreign
mirror, I saw myself for the first time:
head forward on my unstraightened spine
from too much reading, cheeks scored
by impatience. I can never control
my eyes- gray, saddened at will,
with an uncurbed glare for looked-for-double-dealing,
but still looking half a simpleton’s after all.
And then, where the surface wavered.
I saw surprise—a sweating older-woman, her coming
printed in faint lines around my mouth – and loved
the old-bitch whole, as if she were my next-door neighbor.