Therapy Sessions (A poem)

The vultures circle

overhead, head bent down

towards the soil dripping

with water.

.

And here on this road

my feet caress the stones

like it is the last kiss

of a lover floating to shore.

.

The boat tossing

over the waves

of emotion

.

No one could ever understand

that loss and grief

silence and pain

reside at the same address

.

their numbered residence

etched into the mailbox

.

But I remember you

Never thought that one day

you’d walk out the door

and I’d be saying my final goodbyes

.

simply because you beat through

my chest

pound on the doors of my heart
.

Still you feast on me

gorge my eyes

with your beak

so that not even a frangment of

my pupils remain

blinded by my love for you

and how you syphoned the air

from out of my body.

.

And I loved you too much.

gave too much of myself

in hopes that you would think of me

and remember me.

For who I was

.

The therapist sits
on the edge of her chair
no clip board in hand
it’s folded across her lap
keeps a pen cocked in her right air
but never once does she take it out
gazes at me
with calm collected assurance
and says tell me your story

and I undér the magnifying glass
of her carefully constructed expressions
want to build a bomb shelter under the floor
and slip out into the gutter

after all I wouldn’t mind the sludge
nor the dirt
nor the nice running
in the ganky dingy tubes
but to speak
to open my mouth
and say what is on my mind
is far more alarming to me.

she presses words
like they are buttons

Words like

“your childhood, your parents, your siblings

your father ——

and I clench fists together

because who wants to talk about
a past
that I’ve spent so long forgetting

she says its okay
and I wonder if it is.

I simply sit in silence
ten, fifteen, twenty minute
not because there isn’t anything to say
but because there’s too much of it
these damn words

and I’m afraid that if I start
talking I won’t stop

because these words of mines
are like velvet hand grenades
laced into the portrait of the past

only how do you keep a crystal shell
from braking
how do you keep this Bell jar from cracking

maybe the trouble is I love too hard sometimes
maybe the trouble is I never stopped loving

you and I should have and started loving me instead

today becomes a day of reckoning

and I shut eyes
bite my lips till they are swollen
and numb from all the undue pressure.

and for the first time
I feel the wet tears come bursting out of their
holding cell.

I can barely mouth those words
mumble over the stones
proliferating my mouth

she catches every single one
pulls them out of me
like they are sticky pearls.

I think of 12 and 14
mumble something about big hands
on the crutch of my arm
how my feet hit the carpet
burning with the friction under foot

And I cry hard and heavy
like this little girl
never left my chest
for the first realizing
that some stories never leave the shelf
they simply stay with you
everywhere you go

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