irish beef stew

I ask my therapist to read
some of my
poems.

she says why.

I say why not. I've basically
cut open a vein
on my wrist

and dipped a pen into the pool
of blood.

it's everything you need to know.
from top to bottom
inside out.

I've bared my soul, cut a window
into my heart.

you want childhood, angst,
relationships gone bad.

fear, anger, depression mixed
with anxiety and a dose of madness,

well
there it all is in black and white.

it might save us some time.

okay, she says, nodding in that
mildly
condescending way of hers,
writing something
down on her legal pad.

what are you writing, I ask her,
leaning towards her off the couch,
if you don't mind
sharing.

just making a shopping list.
I was making dinner tonight
and was trying
to remember what I need at the store.

have you ever made irish beef stew?