Depression III

It's a crying toddler
that's not yours, but
still wakes you up because
it's afraid of the ghosts
under your bed.

It clings to your dress,
as you take the keys, and try
to leave the house,

you pull away from it's grip,
hearing it shriek
as you descend the stairs.

You go to the grocery store,
and it's there in the fruit section,
lying on the ground.

You walk towards it with
slow steps, your feet are wary
like hesitant words
on the edge of a tongue,

you hold it with you,
it's a heavy child but
you can't leave it there.

You give the cashier the dollars,
and feel like whispering" help"
as if there's a gun pointed
at your head.

Outside, you
get in the car and weep,
so hard your ribs start
to hurt,

your head spins
and you feel as if the car seats
are sucking all the oxygen
around you,

your reddened eyes look in
the rear-view mirror
and meet two guilt-filled eyes
of a child that throws itself
through the window, out
to the crowded street,
and runs,

to get home before you.