My
Therapist’s a Lady
It’s all
so simple now,
yet it
took 30 years
to begin
to understand.
It’s as
though someone
stole
the primer I had
and gave
me another
in my
own language.
It’s
because you are
who you
are
that
I’ve begun
to
become who I am.
That
sounds too dramatic.
All you
did, really, was scream
when you
opened the bathroom door,
saw me
wrapped in a towel,
standing
at attention on a mat,
waiting
in my thirtieth year
for the
steam to clear
from the
cabinet mirror,
waiting
for someone
to shout,
“At ease.”
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