There is a god of sadness, of melancholy and low mood.
I don’t know the name of this god, or its sex,
Its shape or its age. I know its texture though.
I know its smell. This god is hollow and soft.
It feels like old material, much washed,
Colour faded, soft and comforting.
It smells like rose petals that have just
Started to decay, over-ripe and sickly sweet.
Its colour is dusky. Saharan sands.
I want to find my own name for this god.
And choose a place where I can pay tribute.
Leave small offerings on a plate. Give thanks
For the blessings that come from sadness.
Poignancy. Quiet. Comradeship with hurting things.
Turning away from easy pleasures into a deeper search.