Ralph Monday

 

 

 

Therapy Time

This time after the morning
rituals for the day, you turn your
back, button your blouse, no
glimpse of even your bra. New
maneuver.

I can tell that you are looking for
words, but don’t know how to
find them, like crows pecking at
eyes in a cornfield.

The silent moments are awkward.
Finally you say my therapist has
said it’s ok to talk about this.

I have no idea.
Just watch the drapes rake
across the glass where the moon
and dim stars follow the west.

No more sex for awhile until we
can sort all this out. Part of my
therapy.

Another has been injected into
my flesh without inoculation.

Winter beyond the windows
where singing has stopped in
the tops of bare trees.

He even suggested that it might be
best if I move out for a time, just a
bit, you know.

I remember that it was never me
who wanted to soil the untrampled
snow, never me who wanted to
make prints on the virgin blankness, to
be in the snow without touching, to know
purity without pause.

A friend will help me move my things.
Don’t want to bother you. Just a bit, you
know.

To go into the red dust
on a burgundy oak leaf,
this coming of age, our
knowledge such as it was,

the frantic automatic weapons
long ago unleashed.

 

Ralph Monday is Associate Professor of English at Roane State Community College in Harriman, TN., and has published hundreds of poems in over 100 journals. A chapbook, All American Girl and Other Poems, was published in July 2014. A book Empty Houses and American Renditions was published May 2015 by Aldrich Press. A Kindle chapbook Narcissus the Sorcerer was published June 2015 by Odin Hill Press.
 Website: http://www.ralphmonday.com/

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