A day at the clinic

Beneath the concave myriad of shapes
I paced back and forth. The sun clutching

me, bringing me comfort like the puff
of something I took in, catch and release.

The worry, the excitement, the inescapable
fear of seeing your bald head, hearing your

drastic clean cry that is piercing and strangely
soothing. My inherent ability to socialize with you.

I’m not ready for this.

I catch and release one more time before I
search for your spawn, your mother, my lover.

A crowded room full of sighs and grotesque
pictures. Uncomfortable chairs top the

experience off. Your mother and I create a
pond of sweat with our fused hands. She

taps her soles repetitively, wearing down
the dirty carpet. A kind voice announces our

turn. Our eyes look like white moons reflecting
the hope and fear. I tuck my head like a duck

sleeping as we enter the room. A paper full of
questions dragging on the uncertainty until it

comes: Positive.  We smile at each other. A
thousand thoughts jumping around our brains.

Jabbers'

Spice it up a bit with the crescent plum
colored moon. Talk about its white caps
encircling your thoughtless head and the
glow of it, too. Describe the epiphany you

had on your walk near acrid river---You
swung in your depths then, like the willows
near the mucky shore and you were hollow.
Categorize your feelings on the insipid wall

and paint it over; be sure to tally the first night
with Jaclyn under “sublime”. Clutch your soul
and reveal its contents on the wall, too, and
shatter it broken if you don’t like what you see.

Tell the doctors your won’t take their mind-altering
drugs, you don’t have Schizophrenia the voices
are normal. And pet that damn stray cat that spawns
its clean cry just as you lay your head. Wake the
next day, start all over again until it finally comes.

So pure, so pretty

The pretty patter of raindrops
ebbing from above, the cool
drops tricking down my skin,
the swaying of the tree branches
giving the birds a rough time, the
simplicity in our world cleansing
itself in such a beautiful way.

I love that.

"It's so pretty," my girl said once;
as we lay in bed listening, her cool
lips and mine, the swaying of her
red hair brushing my face and the
simplicity in this beautiful girls love
for me. So pure, so pretty.

—Terrance Huiskens