At lunch time I sit in my office with door closed, a respite from constant presence of these bodies who are living in this place for a season. The door shuts out the noise–not the soundful kind–but the soulful kind.
I breathe deeply…close eyes and feel this sanctuary.
Sometimes this job hurts. If I allow it, sinks deep in my skin, won’t wash off even after days go by.
But today, I am trying to listen through the walls…close my clinical ear and open the one that hears deeper.
These things I hear as patients begin to mill into the gym outside my door:
“…four more times now…”
“…she’ll make you work, she will…”
“…I want to see if you’ll correct yourself, if you stumble…”
“…it’s a wild one!”
“…it’s just a balloon, not like you’re throwing a bowling ball…”
“…wait, wait, wait!”
“…good save, good save…”
“…you started to, you know…go. But you corrected your balance, and that’s what I want to see…”
“…I have trouble sitting…”
“…you gotta worry about something, don’t you? It’s like my sister, if something goes right she always has to worry about something else.”
These snippets of conversation drift in, broken by each other, as a multitude of therapists interact one on one with their patients.
And I feel the rhythm of these bodies moving together– seeking to heal, seeking to hear.
will correct yourself
if you stumble…
so I take
and hold them in my hands
turn them round
try them out
with your blessing.
she always has to worry
It’s just a balloon—
a bowling ball.
Don’t hold on
It’s not that heavy.
It’s only life.
if you stumble.
Go over here and visit L.L. to find what this poetry prompt is all about…
or try on this one for size…