Depression

The granites and schists of my dark and stubborn country form the bedrock of woe that has lasted a lifetime, just waiting to poke through the drift that was built up in more active days. The strata built of depositing a family, laying down a career, the metamorphosis from one relationship to another and the occasional intrusion or outflow of molten anger or passion, built a land that seemed impregnable. But tears are relentless and oceans rise and fall, cutting into the margins and then came the ice age of retirement, the weight of ice depressing the whole and stripping all away except that bedrock and leaving even that, scarred and scratched, rounded into the low hills of the bed where I lay and even the black dog has no energy to venture out on the soggy moors that cover the degraded granite hills.

“The granites and schists
Of my dark and stubborn country.”

–Nan Shepherd, “The Hill Burns”
from In the Cairngorms (Edinburgh: The Moray Press, 1934)

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, merrildsmith in Prosery, invites us to write a piece of prose poetry in no more than 144 words and using the given quote above. I should say that the subject of this piece is not my experience but that of someone close to me. As a student of Geology (and Geography) I am aware that Scotland, which is where you find the Cairngorms, has had a remarkable persistence through many geological ages and each age has added layers which may subsequently been removed in another geological age – I am not sure whether this does not give an ultimately optimistic view of things even if it requires a timescale in which we humans may turn out to be but a flash in the pan. Anyway, a metaphor suggested itself with this prompt… I hope it does not bring anyone down…

Krisis does not always come with a bang
a storm heralded by a clap of thunder
or even a whimper, a cry for help
krisis can come like a big cat
creeping, camouflaged the colour of
golden grass until so close to it’s prey
escape is impossible

Pity the partner who too, close by has
failed to spot the marauder
– to sound the alarm until too late
and krisis has sprung, jaws locked on
to suffocate – flight impossible, frozen still

For something that arrives so quietly
depression nevertheless rules the roost
changes more lives than the victim’s
spreads it’s blight to partners
children, siblings, friends
and moments of freedom
are hard won – the result
of planning, cajoling
caring persuasion
and often a short reprieve
results in a reactive tightening
of the snare that binds
– would have the victim
knaw off their own leg
if only they had the energy

The only hope – to roll back the
malaise in the same way it came
a single step at a time
hoping a habit will take hold
and the novel become the norm
once more…

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, paeansunplugged in Poetics asks us to “write a poem about any pivotal moment in your life that left you with gnawing regrets or you could cover the entire gamut from anger to forgiveness and reconciliation. In short, you will be writing about a krisis in your personal life.”

How would you know…

Depression

The Quietest Krisis