The pane refracted gleams conceived ill
Still shimmering on sunlight sill
Like trembled glimpse of collaged past
Wills to swill and swallow fast
From palm to finger perched pill
To tip of tongue pitch, caste
Brings deep,
Longed for sleep,
at last.
Azure blue coagulum of lazuli light, lapis ornamented lamp light, sun caressed of blade churned air on the petals poised swollen; an indoor Orchid garden, pastel pots glazed green, yellow brimmed moist with forest born substratum. An island under a fluorescent light. A Jade plant as a breathing gem, standing as an ancient tree. Light green vines falling from woven, hung baskets adjacent and perpendicular to wall spanned windows viewing reddish brick in the eastern rays of the western sun. A therapist’s office with step stools, chairs miss-matched; a therapist, likely once troubled, sitting at ease at her desk.
Mariana Jong, perfectly American, daughter of paired Peace Corps lovers who raised her doing missionary work in Uganda, then Haiti. Older, not old, with hair not frazzled, not curly, not tangled yet not sheen, not straight, sandy blonde hair; Sitting adjacent to her desk across from a young man in his late twenties.
“How are you today?” Mariana.
“Good… I am good.” A shoulder shrug which barely showed.
“So, tell me, we’ve gotten through the forms and insurance info. The last visits, you know, paperwork.” The light in her eyes shimmers briefly. This is their third meeting. “What can I do for you?”
- excerpt of mine