Doldrums. Lack of sun. Uninspired. Putting on weight and the weight of the world

I am cave dweller

glum

Under the gray sludge of the valley air.

Inside my house

the summer window

closed by the curtain of clouds.

Even the ready calls over the fence

between neighbours

in gardening season

or while shoveling snow

have disappeared.

We all retreat

to eat away at the days and weeks

scooping up sugar or caffeine

to feed the inertia.

Sleeping 12 hours at a time.

I awake to a neck twisted over

careless mounds of pillows.
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My list is next to my computer.

Beginning again each day

Sitting meditation

My mind makes up stories

about the future

about the past

Even fantasies about people I cannot

know.

Where is the breath

of fresh air?

I will take my sunshine in a spoon.

Oil from some fish’s liver

shiny slick

to give my body hope

to cross through the gray sponge-like days.

I feel Victorian in the closed house

and sigh from room to room

waiting for the sun to bring its calling card.