In the room of my life there is chaos
quiet desperation
in my Grand Avenue apartment
long scarves hang over the blue chaise lounge
bottles of colorful psychotropic drugs litter every surface
tangled, twisted white sheets, beige blankets
cover the unmade bed
in the room of my life
I reside in dark hopeless despair
half-started projects
fill the space of every exterior
desk, tabletops, the pink-and-white settee
in the room of my life
improvement churns slowly
résumés, unfinished poems, essays
scattered across the dining room desk
proving I am unwell
not my Type A self
in the room of my life
there is a woman who is lost
friends have moved on
tired of manic and depressive episodes
family rendered unable to help me
to regain energy, confidence, drive
who is the person I am now?
I ask myself incredulously.
In the room of my life
the cold winter briskness
breathes fresh air
through the cracked kitchen window
life is blowing through the room
lifting my spirits
friends reach out in spring
Poem: MARY HARROLD is a writer of poetry, creative nonfiction, and essays. She lives in the Twin Cities area. She is a graduate of the University of Minnesota and an enrolled member of the White Earth Nation of Ojibwe. She enjoys reading, her daily writing practice, and spending time with family and friends.
Photo: HEIDI PRENEVOST, Edward's Bed, Digital C-Print, 2008. Courtesy Plains Art Museum. Heidi is a multidisciplinary artist who explores what taking up space looks like and feels like. She lives and works in Brooklyn, New York.
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