she found a way

i understand depression.

my mother had it bad, but with good reason.
a lying no good
husband who cheated on her
with every woman
that crossed his path.

seven kids, no money. one bathroom.
and no way out.
who wouldn't be depressed.

but she did her best to block
it out.

she made doll houses, put puzzles
together.
she knitted until her fingers bled.

i remember her in the garden
swatting away the bees,
gloves on,
avoiding poison ivy,
out there all day
in the wet grass, on her knees.

she found ways to forget, found
ways to remember.

i understand depression.