It was late January
and you had driven up to see me.
I was not nice to you,
but you bought me breakfast
at my favorite place, anyways.
The diner light was forgiving, and
the coffee was bottomless, but
you still saw them -
the smudges of bluish-purple set under my eyes,
careless thumbprints
that depression leaves
when she makes herself at home in my skin.
She gets too comfortable, and
does not bother
to clean up after herself,
so I do my best
to rid myself of her mess.
But I have missed a few spots.
You saw them, but Mom,
she stains like
hard water. Calcified tears
are not so simply wiped away.