Depression, like any beast, digests
only what is edible.
To make your joy indigestible,
follow closely these steps:
Learn your enemy—in your mouth, melt
its pearled name until it enamels, sugar
silked between the gums. Even in a mouth’s
dark, I brighten. My sadness a whetstone
to the blade of my joy. How many ligaments
in an ankle must you count before stumble
becomes a toppled animal? To slice too far
stimulates glands buried in its talus, jewels
ripened by their own secret. To kill
sadness too well doubles its size.
As many pains as species,
when two pains sniff each other,
rapt in clover and singed breath, they'll love
a new kind of pain into you. The most heavenly
creatures have no names, scurry as blurs
across an entire moment of your face—
all at once: whiplash, throwing
you into the future and past.
image: Dorothy Chan