Shades of Melancholia

​by Natalia Macias

shades of melancholia

i let my clock fall three minutes behind
then four and with the changing of the season
it becomes 56 minutes ahead
i let it because it doesn’t mean much to me
my body never really observed it’s rigid lines
likes more of the mental gymnastics it takes for me
to calculate the difference
between the bedside clock and the number on my phone,
the one in my mom’s car and the one above the stove,
…
i calculate my age for the day
even by the hour it changes
traveling from 17 to 21 to 54
my body would expand to create years
in the span of a couple of hours

when i close my eyes
time looks like my stretch marks
expands, retracts
breathes in and out
since the last time i’ve seen it
my body says see how i’ve grown
look at the new space i’ve created

our connection to time isn’t new love but ancient recognition
it isn’t shivers and goosebumps,
it’s reverence and sustained power just below the surface of your skin
sometimes i feel like a stone in a zen garden
the sand moves like water around me
making serene landscapes
…
i calculate the amount of grief i’ll carry with me today
i often underestimate, but it’s okay
the weight of the many versions of myself that i’ve lost
tug at the hem of my jeans
who i could’ve been, the lives i promised myself

forced to slow down
i realize i live in shades of melancholia
and not wanting it any other way
i do wish i could separate the two realities
jump from one to the next
all at my convenience

but for now i live in them both simultaneously
mourning quietly
and with any empathy i can spare
feeding a new found fascination with dichotomies
and the painfully bright way they merge
…
my body often forgets it’s own language
the different regions have new slang
and their accents make it hard to understand
and when my body forgets it’s own language
it only knows how to scream

my body has made the space in between my home
standing on the cusp of overwhelming sound and complete silence
familiarizing myself with uncertainty
and many people only pass through
but i’ve been trying to make it my home
building upon shifting land

i wonder what my body would say
if you asked it what it feels like
to live in the space in between

n.m.

~ a reflection on crip time by ellen samuels