It is true my chest aches because the loneliness

Image credit: Ulrike Mai

that pools there leaves behind a heaviness

doctors dismiss as anxiety, a panic

that must be immediately dealt with. What

would those doctors say if they knew

I do not take the prescribed pills? Instead, I collect

them in a glass box on the bathroom vanity,

hoarding them like the chalky pearls

of a candy necklace. I will someday string

them on a piece of floss, knotted tightly, bury

in the garden beneath my bedroom window.

Come spring — a pastel bloom I’ll steep

in boiling water, breathe in the steam

to softly loosen sadness!