The Therapist

The first time I went to the therapist
She told me that the winter is in my bones
Like the summer is in my skin
She said the technical term for this
Is negative emotionality

She said, you can combat the darkness with lights.
No, really, buy these lamp bulbs and stare into them
for half an hour a day and see if it makes you feel
any better.

I looked at her with the straightest face
My gay body could muster
And asked her
"Do I look like a fucking moth to you?"

She said, it depends, do you often dream cocoon?

I said, yes.

She said, do you understand?

I said, no.

She said, that's the first step.

I told her moths couldn't talk.
She said they can't be smug either.

Fair enough I said.
Fair enough.

I laughed as much as my gravity would allow
Without snapping my vocal cords back to
where the darkness lives.

I asked her, what do you dream about?
She said, I often dream web.
I asked if that made her a spider.

She said yes, in the least predatory sense.
If that's possible.
I digress.

I asked her, what's it like to dream web?

She waited, gathered her breath, and said with as much wisdom as possible:

Your time is up.
Maybe I'll tell you in our next session.
Fair enough I said.

Fair enough.