by Diana Whitney
When I think of my depression
it’s not a wraith or a demon
but the huge container ship
stuck in the Suez Canal, lodged sideways
for days, blocking the world’s commerce,
that massive steel hull wedged
into mud and silt, two hundred
thousand tons of grief, fear, shame
looming like a cliff above a tiny backhoe,
the yellow ant of my effort
scrabbling to dig and dig,
one spoonful of sand at a time.
It was the moon I tell you,
not the tugboats or earthmovers.
The full moon brought the spring tides
that lifted the ship, shifted her prow,
opened the waterways.
I’m not saying the answer is to wait
for the waxing, but what if
we had faith in gravitational pull,
what if we knew
release was always available,
what if we didn’t
have to work so hard?
Invitation for Writing and Reflection: Think back to a time when you felt the weight of anxiety or depression bearing down on you. Stay with the sensations, and see what images come to capture the difficult emotions, then describe how you moved through it.