I tried jujitsu once
and suave maneuvers of martial arts
to squash the sadness
piling up in the corners of my room again.
Somehow it had moved in, like the endless stream of dirty laundry.
But sadness only seeks to sauté and infiltrate the air.
It wrestles with my anger lately,
in a contentious struggle for domination,
both fearless when it comes to mortal combat.
Which is strange,
since sadness usually basks in its own lethargy,
embracing the silence of the darkness
as it grapples with playful shadows,
unwittingly, when it knots the hair
and dots the eyes
with tears as swollen as raindrops.
If life is but a tangled mess of moments
that take us from day to day,
and writers’ words are meant to be read,
then maybe sadness just needs to breathe
until it becomes weary and is swept outside the door.
© Connie Song 2021. All Rights Reserved.
