she awoke each morning
with the desire to do right
to be a good and meaningful person
to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy
and during the course of each day
her heart would descend
from her chest
into her stomach
by early afternoon
she was overcome by the feeling
that nothing was right,
or nothing was right for her
and by the desire to be alone
by evening she was fulfilled
alone in the magnitude of her grief
alone in her aimless guilt
alone even in her loneliness
'i am not sad', she would repeat to herself over and over
'i am not sad'
as if she might one day convince herself
or fool herself
or convince others--the only thing worse than being sad
is for others to know that you are sad
'i am not sad'
'i am not sad'
because her life had
unlimited potential for happiness
insofar as it was an empty white room
she would fall asleep
with her heart at the foot of her bed
like some domesticated animal
that was no part of her at all
and each morning she would wake with it again in the cupboard of her rib cage
having become a little heavier,
a little weaker, but still pumping
and by the mid afternoon
she was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else
someone else
someone else
somewhere else
"i am not sad."
