Tea Session with Depression

One lump or two
I ask
Assuming that I am
“Mother”

Depression is indifferent
And so I merely leave the bowl
And spoon
Within reach
In case it has a change of heart

In past visits
Treated with contempt
In my vain attempt
To cast it off

I had always considered it to be coarse
Unrefined
Somehow brutish
Now that we are face to face
It seems quite shy

I’m reaching for compassion
For this unfashionable defense
This wartime response
Who stares
Like a shell-shocked veteran
Lost in peacetime

I try to remember
That it is only trying to help
Old coping
Broken
As a talking doll with a knotted string
Answering questions
That haven’t been asked

That’s why I’m pouring
Gentle tea
For both of us