Life After Depression

She brings purple to the city

with her cascaded waves of burnt

cinnamon and voice like saccharin.

She writes poems in coffee shops

where she only drinks floral teas

and calls home three times a week.

She went to therapy when she should 

and doesn't need an alarm to wake up 

and she watches old films on the weekend

with her tired gaze through diner windows.

And she takes photographs in color 

and keeps the shades open in the morning

and doesn't need voices to fall asleep. 

She's read all the books on her shelf 

and it didn't take 3 years to get her license 

and she keeps in touch with her friends. 

She plays 50's vinyls on her record player 

and she takes her vitamins every morning. 

She has her mother's hands, soft and supple 

and she forgives herself for everything.