Back in Therapy - Nov. 9, 2025

therapist and I, two strangers

address the autopsy of a life

lying on a table, long and wide

scalpels sharp, the slices deep

blood needing blotting,

together, we cut deeper

past the scars of old injuries

around bullets lodged in the past

all the way to my earliest years

when skin was soft and pressable,

bruised dark purple and emotions

were too afraid to open their mouths

my issues - anger and control

upset, at times, with what I can’t control,

dismayed every time, at anger, uncontrolled

for so long, I’ve wanted this operation,

invisible bones reset, wounds resewn,

feelings scrubbed, head put back on straight

how long it takes will depend on what

damage we find and the number of stitches

needed for what’s still salvageable

all I know is, I’d like my remaining years

to end like a poem – smoking a pipe

in a rocking chair, smiling to myself