I should have known
it would be fundamentally important
for my therapist to speak in metaphors-
or at least be able to understand
when I slipped into them.
The other day
I was talking about the disappointment I felt
when I discovered that my father,
who I always believed was a kind of beacon or lighthouse,
was actually a gas light.
And she said that it was to be expected-
children always feel disappointed
when they discover their parents are not lighthouses
but merely lamps-
capable of light
but not in the proportions we originally thought.
So thank you, Roz, for walking with me
with your flashlight in one hand
and your book of modern verse in the other
as we wonder the brutal landscape
that was my childhood.