The Psychologist

The psychologist asks the children

to draw trees and she draws

conclusions: the barren winter tree

reveals the emptiness eating within.

My tree has no leaves, yet

the branches are strung with

pairs of shoes:

broken boots, red high heels, old tennies

laces locked, tossed in the air

and suspended on limbs.

What does this mean?

My daughter’s middle name is Grace

and for five years that sustained us

until one day I forgot why I had chosen

to be a mother.

Desperately I wanted to fly away

walk into the night

down a friendly city street and

into a café

anonymous and free.

Instead, I prayed for Grace

and it came back to me:

I have chosen Love

Love has chosen me.

It’s good, my roots

reaching into this place

ground hard, alive with

dancing shadow shoes.

The low winter sun

shimmers through my tree.

If the earth can’t sustain me

this sun will.

jam