Excavation, The Dig

Let us first look for one without expectations.
As Carson postulates, Eros may very well be the sweet followed by the bitter.
But is that where my depression began?

When we met,
You took me to the fun house in New Orleans –
Standing on the platform at the end of the bridge
We watched two children flailing towards us.
I smiled at their laughter as they tried to hold onto the bars
And they struggled to separate the lights of the tunnel from their own dizziness.

That was seven years ago.
There are moments now when I feel my stomach collapse inward from pain.

Last week I jumped the curb on Massachusetts Avenue.
It was as if my mind was separate from my body and then at once jolted back upon impact.
I told myself it was a panic attack. It was.
But it was also the result of exhaustion.
And it was my ongoing dissatisfaction.
And it was the absence of Klonopin,
And no one beside me to tell me to slow down.

Clarissa Olivarez is an artist and poet living in the Washington, D.C. area. Her photography has appeared in inscape, joyful!, Juked, and is forthcoming in POESY. Her writing has been published in Haggard & Halloo, Counterexample Poetics, and Blood Lotus.