melancholia
weepy, faraway freak under
imaginary interrogation lights—
they sear into clandestine
melancholy
she has tried so hard to keep it concealed,
but water touched by flame cannot
pretend it doesn’t boil
downcast eyes so they cannot sense
the well’s depth and opacity –
mouth corners pinned into
a permanent grin—
don’t let it twist to grimace
their careful words morph into the
dull hum of cicadas—
gripped by her hidden wreckage
her tears bubble up to the surface
deluge from the deep
