Sertraline: A Prescription Zuihitsu
But to tell the truth─ I’ve always been a bass unsettled,
or a reed note where the key has to paw through
myrrh, gravel, and a Brown Girl smile. Always show
that I can shine shine shine.
DRUGS LIKE THIS ONE HAVE RAISED: a mouth pressed tight.
hands that hold a pen steady, when you are a jumping
dark mite blown in all directions.
200 milligrams our daily bread. Here is a Black prayer
that keeps it all shh.
Unless it’s─ eye drops for cataracts, yellow pills for pressure
cause your aunt always smelled blood when hers was up,
or insulin for “the sugar” and amputated toes in the south.
THE CHANCE OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS: was never a stranger.
even in the teenage years. sitting in the corner of a painting.
she’s just quiet. her head never asked . . what if I wasn’t . .
My mother has never lost a child, never had to break
her ovaries into flowers. But her middle one thinks too hard,
turns away fast, a furtive sparrow constantly gathering worry
then blame then cause then effect then power-through,
then imagine the weight of a whale’s inflated lung.
THE RISK MAY BE GREATER IN: the Black unicorns. the ones with 2
jobs and a hustle on the side. the kin who lend money
and an ear when called. feeds you their shortness of breath.
Anxiety looks like juniper paste and a shot of turmeric.
The taste of white rice tuned slick from resting too long
in a fridge. Tearing aluminum that’s half greasy yet half dry,
so fingers grip, slip, and you forget the kindness of bone.
IT IS USED TO TREAT LOW MOOD: but we give it different names,
thinking we can banish what we can name, make light
of what we can name. a glass between us and it.
When you got the blues. When you are fit to be tied and
wanting to marry your bed, you quickly realize─
it ain’t cinematic. It don’t have a soundtrack that swells
and drops, it ain’t quiet. It’s a song left standing.
KEEP TAKING THIS DRUG EVEN IF YOU FEEL WELL: cut away the
cacophony so you don’t die exhausted. learn how
to work with things that need a loom of repair.
This is a love letter to serotonin, the inhibitors and
holders of beautiful disasters. A lighthouse. It’s a
mortal thing to sometimes be a stretched word
with too many vowels.
***
Author photo by Sue Rissberger
