Back Next My Seven Years of Therapy

A yellowed warm light
brought to a pink glow
Bach in the background
Your soul dark and reddened
like your hair
awaits my explorations
You straighten your skirt
puff a cigarette
The smoke dissolves
into the flame of the candle

Shall I begin
by speaking
of Kant and Spinoza?
Or shall I enter
into a dainty aspect
of a dream?
We have time
we sip our coffee
"oh no
only fifteen minutes are left!"
"your clock is wrong."
"Oh I beg your pardon."
"It is quite alright"

Sweet to sit in church with you
Just you and I
talking about ME

You finger the small
Mandela stone
that sits on your small
Mandela round table

I watch a murder image
that comes before my eyes
You rub the stone
I rub my eyes

I could shout
Heil Hitler
and click my heels
and storm
your living room
I sing and ode
to a cherry blossom

My spleen hurts
what can be the matter?
and again
murder plus murder.

Irwin R. Shaw - December 1984