Does Anyone Else Sit In That Swing
She seemed sleek and hypervigilant, like a well-toned velvet puma.
I watched her from my corner of the room, wondering about her swing.
Does anyone else ever sit in that swing? I asked her.
An ordinary question that challenged her somehow.
I watched her eyes turn yellow. Black slits in the middle became wider.
A few seconds before I might have wandered, but now
I was frightened into staying in my regular spot.
You may lie down on the couch and close your eyes, the therapist said.
Her voice had a melodic tone I did not recognize.
She coaxed me further, so I spread out, prone on her ugly floral couch.
You may use a pillow, she suggested.
I did not want one, but my hands grabbed one up.
You may close your eyes, she purred.
As my eyes were closing I noticed
She had begun to head toward me
No longer a woman, a puma.
I closed my eyes anyway.
For she had me
in her
power.
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