Young women drown themselves before Shakespeare immortalized, memorialized Ophelia. But having a poster child changes us. Cautionary tale or rallying cry, Ophelia is a hand to hold on dark cold days when the light is hard to find and everything seems bent toward destruction. Not that I think she solved anything with her despondent act just that she stands in the familiar frame I find myself in from time to time. When I imagine I’ve invented the wheel it makes it harder to step down and walk. Ophelia’s fate makes it easier to get off depression’s bus and find my way back home.
Press your excuses for truth
I slide my hand under the pillow
And am disappointed not to find a quarter.
I feel I deserve one though I didn’t leave a tooth.
I did leave my bite,
I’ve toned down my bark a bit too.
It has not been easy.
I’ve spent much of my life snapping and growling
At the world around me.
I have shortened the leash on these reactive behaviors
Many I have put to bed all together.
Improved conduct is prize enough
But I surely would enjoy a winged visitor
If only just for fun.