Spring cleaning

I haven’t called or seen my therapist

in months and I wonder if she worries,

or wonders about me

as often as she crosses my mind.

I found her card while I was spring cleaning

which made me laugh and then wince

because this is what therapy feels like;

cleaning out closets and emptying old shoe boxes,

turning the pockets of your favourite jacket

inside out to find a pittance of dust and fluff.

And as always, I see her name

and think of a question

but never an answer, at least never the answer

I am meant to hear: that her kindness

didn’t make me special and missing people

is probably just a professional hazard.

Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

6 thoughts on “Spring cleaning”

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