my therapist calls me

my therapist calls me and tells
me that she needs
to see me right away.

it's an emergency. i hear a door
slam
and then what sounds like
a vase of flowers
hitting the door.

okay, okay, i tell her,
calm down.

are you in any danger, is everything
okay at home.

i'm safe she says, but no everything
is not okay at
home. my husband is having
an affair.

he's such a lying pig, narcissist.

oh my, i say.

see you in ten minutes.
i just need to get out of
my pajamas and put some clothes on.

i go to her office, the door is open.
she's not in her chair though,

she's on the couch, where i usually
sit. she's crying, holding a box
of Kleenex on her lap.

i'm sorry, she says, sobbing, but
i didn't know who else to call.

i know after what you went through
that you would understand.

i cross my legs and pick up
her yellow legal pad on the table.
okay, okay. i tell her. breathe,
breathe. need some water? tea, perhaps?

no, no, she says, then blows her nose.

let's take it slow. tell me what
happened. she tells me about his
infidelity, his lies, his deceptions.

finding his emails, and receipts
to restaurants and hotels, etc.
she goes on in detail about her
discoveries.

i should have known, she says, still
crying, but softer now. my gut
told me something was wrong.
and isn't that something you've always
told me

listen to your gut?

yes, i tell her writing something
down on the pad. it's my mantra.
everyone knows that.

listen to your gut.

but enough about me, tell me about
your childhood, your mother,
your father, i tell her. it all
starts there. we know that, don't we?

take your time, we have all day.