m o r e | w o r d s

Feb 14, 2010

h a n s e l | c a n c e l s | t h e r a p y | s e s s i o n | w i t h | g r e t e l



Pt. canceled session w/sister via letter.
No interest in rescheduling. Follow up
Calls on 10/10 and 10/15 unsuccessful;
Billed ins. for missed appt. Current pt.
Status unknown. –Dr. X.







I am now my own
therapist after so many
years in white

chairs, reupholstered with paisley
prints distracting the voices inside
my head reminding me how

as a child I murdered
my sister's happiness
without knowing it.

Old plumes of smoke and ash
forever threatening to rise again
like the phoenix, unable to die.

Consumed by her
last death as if it were
the end of all

those fingered bones
whose evil marrow
mixes with the undead

memories
baking inside her
with varying degrees of intensity.

The residue of death
appearing on curves of her
puffed and crooked veins

torn from the flaky crusts
Sissy tosses to the pigeons
feasting on the scattered remains.

I can't forget what she's done
for me--how her love has
this way of intoxicating

me with all the little deaths
that come before the finale--
nothing but crumbs on the path.

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