What My Therapist Taught Me

The first hug of the morning,
More than perfunctory, far longer
than the five seconds people who measure such things
say it needs to be to count.

A coolness in the air.
Yesterday’s rain washing the smoke from the air.
Deep breaths are welcome.

A cat greets you at the car,
and delays you a few minutes while you pet it,
listen to it purr, watch its tail vibrate with pleasure.

A cup of coffee at the local diner
Truth is, it’s not great, but still… worth the drinking,
the strong, slightly bitter bite waking you up,
and mingling well with the sausage on your plate.

The sausage reminds you of Virginia,
where you came from, and for a time you remember
the best of that place, thinking more of what is worthy there,
not what drove you away to this place that is now home.
Your remembering is kind of clinical. Not a yearning,
simply fact. Good things live everywhere.
There. here.

This is the most important thing your therapist taught you
all those years ago. To see the small things
and make them count. Remind yourself that these
are the real things of life, not your dark imaginings;
that we were made for goodness
if we could only see it
for what it is.

About this poem

Just another breaking through the muddled morning poem. And a bit of journaling in verse form.

Scientists say that hugs need to last more than five seconds to be good for us. Every second more than five adds lots of good chemicals to our brain. Just thought you’d like to know.

Yeah, that’s one of my cats. She only has a stub for a tail, but it vibrates when she purrs. Or at least it did this morning.

It was a VERY long poem, but before I put you to sleep, I cut a lot of it way back.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom