Therapy
Upon opening the dusty spruce door,
I am greeted by an old friend.
Charming woman, full of life and eager to chat.
As we entered her office, the soft brown couch was as tempting as ever.
Her oak roll top desk was neatly clean, her room had the aesthetic of a beach house.
After a few years of missed appointments, I feel ready to chat with her once more.
The faint sounds of rush hour traffic echoed in the distance.
Talking about my mornings, and memories I avoid naming, I confess what I’m willing to share.
She pauses, reflects, then softly speaks.
“I’m glad you didn’t, I’ve thought about you several times over the last couple of years.”
I force a soft smile.
It’s not easy explaining the sentences I stop myself from finishing.
This sealed vessel, there is no use for a broken sword.
However, she’s always kept her door open for me.
She’s the only one who listens and doesn’t interrupt me.
As our time came to an end for the day,
I thanked her for donating her time to see me.
As I get ready to leave,
All I can do is think of how comfortable the couch feels.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
