The Depressed Woman

by Tran Hung

I wish I was there in that moment,
bringing an antidepression dose
or a hopeful dose,

but it’s too late,
there’s a depressed woman.
How did she bring her baby out of the dream?
How did she care for the slender fingers,
those angel fingers that suck the mother’s breasts,
the pink folding with all the germs and baby leaves.
How did she kiss her baby
if she does not soften her lips with white milk?
Night after night she bangs her head into the night.
Her baby is slim and soft.
How can she bare the pink and soothe her baby?
Why doesn’t the baby follow her when she flies down to the abyss?
The farther she falls, the more she’s cold and clean.
Baby, don’t leave,
these are your Icarus wings.
She drops her baby to fly and she follows.
She chooses the quiet time.
She and the water look at each other in the night
then she looks at her baby in the dark sky
there is no sound of falling mist but the sound
of a soft invitation from the abyss.
Is there any cradle that’s milder than water,
any pain that’s milder than water,
any milk fuller than water.
She chooses for her baby this water flower
to put in its pretty lips.
You do not have to breathe anymore,
Or smile in your sleep anymore.