blue river stone

the new therapist
reminds me
of an owl.
her round glasses, her
oval
face
and hair.
she's prim and proper
across from
me as I sit
and cross my legs
in her deep cushioned chair.
so why are we
here, she asks, pen in hand,
staring me down
using all her knowledge
to examine
and reveal
the reason for my coming,
my frown.
why are we here, indeed.
why anywhere,
why can't we leave well
enough alone,
and numb ourselves.
live and die,
walk through life
unbothered, cold
and thoughtless. silent
below the water not unlike
a rounded blue
river stone.