"Dia de Muertos" and "Despair"



The first poem examines a depressive person who has not come back to life yet. The next poem examines the psyche of someone slowing walking out of despair and towards her life.





The sunlight fractured around you

when you went to the dark places

you insisted on visiting.

Night, like a bed of cold autumn leaves,

made you sink deeper into your despair

gloomy imaginings, and misguided actions—

headboards rattling like old bones come back to life

were part of your mockery, your play,

entire months spent celebrating Día de Muertos.


You were coffin ready, one last jitterbug or Charleston

in front of the mirror, calling in a different era.

There was always a hat on your head

Even when it was an imagined hat, a cane for twirling,

fancy dancing shoes on your feet,

even when you wore flip flops religiously.

You were rarely yourself, and the sunlight knew it,

waiting for your return.


---Lindsay C. Lightfoot



Start here:  You are alive,

and even the gods have made

horrible mistakes.


You have, most likely, not

chopped off your son’s head

or worn a blindfold your entire adult life

in the name of love,

so forgive yourself

for what you have done.


Tell your heart to calm itself.

Remember a lake, a tree, a building

that you saw and loved as a child.

Remember the silence you walked in

before entering the loud,

incessant den of fear.


Though you are hungry,

and your hands shake,

know that you are already home.


---Lindsay C. Lightfoot

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