by Tara Mandarano
Where does a lost mind go?
Is it scattered among the debris of my bedroom,
wedged behind the gurgling humidifier on my dresser?
Perhaps it's trapped inside the light box
shouting YET BE HAPPY
every time I look up from my bipolar depression,
failing to take its advice despite
the plethora of inspirational quotes I like.
Maybe it's wedged inside too many pill bottles,
encapsulated and hiding in plain sight,
just waiting to be found
by my shaking fingers.