Fragments of a Dissected Word
Because it's easier to rename,
to change what I can't fix--
now depression belongs
to someone else. I mix up
the letters and say,
I'm just taking care of Red's ponies,
instead of having to say
I'm falling apart.
And I take this word further,
say I am filled with sin or speed,
piss or need, or deep sins--
deep deep sins.
But this word---depression
---I read it inside out: persons die,
a ripened SOS.
And when it's around, I become
a side person, posed, risen,
I am opened, sirs.
I can rearrange the letters
but I cannot arrange it
from my life.
Like playing Clue:
it was sis in the den with a rope,
I keep waiting to find out
the ending,
Rose, I spend my nights awake
and all those years I didn't tell you,
I pressed on.
---Kelli Russell Agodon
---found in Letters from the Emily Dickinson Room