Anger blows thru

All week I stewed
Incoherently mumbling
To myself in the shower
To myself on the street
Like a crazy person or
A writer…
Frustrated and fuming
Unable to bring forth
Words for my feelings
Unable to release anything…
Then I saw my shrink
And ranted for an hour
About my parents’ visit
And why and how
And heretofore…
And I didn’t think
I was getting anywhere
Until afterward
I boarded a train
And cherished the emptiness
The sense of being “swept clean”
Felt as if I had been fasting
And now I was starving
For a Paul Bunyan breakfast
And a hundred pots of tea
As if I had been mute
And suddenly was reciting
poem after poem…

You see…
I do depression like a drug
I am well acquainted
With despair…
I’ve even been known
To flirt with happiness
But anger is the stranger
At the door – hard to justify
Never knowing
Should I let it in?
Will it be too powerful?
Engulf me, drown me
Overstay its welcome
Become the guest
Who will not leave
Despite my hints and cajoling
Camping on my couch
Conquering my life until
I am the stranger…
But these are only my
Overblown imaginings.
In reality, the anger blew
Swiftly through my body
And out of my mouth…
A few leftover leaves
Of anger remain
Steeping in my blood
Awaiting the next time.
But for now, I am empty
And that pot of tea
Smells simply perfect
Jasmine and lemon…
And an empty sheet
of paper.