The Therapist Said…
When I sat down across from him
he told me that he likes to think
about therapy as a party
where his patient can come in
and release everything inside of them
like silly-string spray and confetti
Patients can release everything
and step over the fun
multi-colored conversation
spread out on the floor
on their way out the door
leaving the mess
for him to clean up
I wondered if he was high
but was intrigued
I wanted that too
An Hour
My new therapist and I
spent an hour
trying to figure out
why I was there
I’m still not sure
He gave me homework
I have to figure out why
I scheduled and appointment
It was my wife
who scheduled
the appointment
Things are falling apart
at home and I know
that it’s my fault
Is that enough?
Is my homework complete?
Poetry
My therapist wants
me to write
my past down in poems
It’s this week’s assignment
He says that poetry
will allow me to skip
through uncomfortable
memories like a flat rock
scarcely
kissing
the
surface
of
the
water
Poetry will make writing
everything down
less daunting
He said that poetry
will also allow me
to exercise
a certain amount
of control over
parts of my life
that I previously
had no control
over
No control
Famous
It was a warm spring day
and I was helping Mom
weed the garden
working in the
morning shadow
of our house
The sun had not
yet cleared the roof
I remember the dank
smell of earth and the
dew from leaves
christened my shins
as I brushed
by the foliage
Mom had a red bandana
tied over her head
and her long black hair
flowed out the back
You’re going to be famous, she said
I looked at her
I was only eight
I put my dirty finger to my chest
and my eyebrows raised
You are going to be
an important ambassador
to Russia one day
What? I asked Me?
God told me so, she said
He showed me in a dream
She dug her fingers into the earth
and rooted out a piece of crabgrass
and then moved on down the row
working from a graceful hunch
The Judas Kiss
The old farmhouse
we called home
glowed a soft yellow
The light fighting the gray
morning in the winter windows
Everybody’s routines collided
in the kitchen
Dad was leaving
on a business trip
My sisters and I
were heading to school
Mom was orchestrating it all
I poured homemade granola
into a thick blue-gray rustic bowl
Kiss and hug your dad goodbye, Mom said
to my sisters and me
So we did so obediently
but I thought it was strange
I hadn’t kissed and hugged
Dad goodbye in years
I was 13 after all
The News
I got off the diesel spewing bus
and walked up the driveway
with my sisters
Dibs on the Nintendo, I yelled
and sprinted ahead
I kicked off my shoes
and when I looked up
I saw Mom sitting at the kitchen table
with Aunt and Uncle from downstate
Her hands were together as if she were praying
Her chin rested on her thumbs
A crumpled piece of tissue dangled
from between her fingers
Sorrow sat in her damp eyes
and her face had the pink glow
of someone who had been crying
Aunt reached out
and put her hand
on my Mom’s shoulder
You can do this, she said.
My sisters froze behind me
What’s wrong? Sister One asked
Let’s all sit down in the living room and talk, Mom said
Everyone followed her
We filed into the formal seats
The low-winter sunlight
highlighted floating dust particles
The glass in the windowpane
had languorously settled
It was thickest at the bottom
I looked from eye to eye to eye
from Aunt
to Uncle
to Mom
looking for a clue
Uncle lifted his hand off his lap
a subtle wave
I waved back
So, Mom said as she clapped her thighs
We’re leaving your father
She settled back into the chair
as if she were a balloon deflating
She said…
We’re leaving tonight…
We’re leaving now…
What? I asked. Why?
I’ve done a lot of praying, she said,
and I don’t think it’s safe here
What do you mean? I asked.
I think your father has molested all of you, she said
The Lord showed me.
In a dream
and through scripture, she said.
Dad hasn’t touched me, I said.
That you know of, Mom countered
I’m pretty sure I’d remember something like that, I said
Oprah said that when talking about sexual abuse
you can only say one of two things for sure
You can say that you’ve been molested
or that you don’t remember if you’ve been molested
Our memories automatically repress those horrible events
I absorbed the information like a rock
I think I should stay behind, I said.
He’s going to be lonely
We’re all going.
It’s not safe for you and the girls here
and it was settled like that
She had packed our things
We drove for two hours
south to Rochester, Minnesota
where we checked into a motel
where we lived for the next month
Alien Buddha Press 