The rain drums down like red ants,

each bouncing off my window.

The ants are in great pain

and they cry out as they hit

as if their little legs were only

stitche don and their heads pasted.

And oh they bring to mind the grave,

so humble, so willing to be beat upon

with its awful lettering and

the body lying underneath

without an umbrella.

Depression is boring, I think,

and I would do better

to make some soup and light up the cave.

Anne Sexton, The Fury of Rainstorms

Art by Natalie Shau