it’s easy to pretend

there’s nothing wrong

that you simply slept too long

drank too much last night

that a cold is coming on

that it’s your losses in the market

or the somber winter morning

that oppress you

she can’t be fooled

she cradles your head in her hands

and asks you

why so sad baby

I can see it in your eyes

you smile sheepishly

and try to frame an answer

but it’s nothing really

you can put into words

just a weight

you can’t press from your chest

a fog you can’t penetrate

even with the high beams on

(originally published in Page and Spine)