My Shooting Stars By Alice Age 6

 

'In our last session, you said you couldn’t say  

Just how it made you feel'.

 

Three long  years on, still mistaking my frown as hesitance,

She consulted notes. A  professional , tiny, half-smiled prompt.

 I 'd drifted off and wasn’t sure how long my absence

Lasted, The face I’d drafted on, assuring

Her I understood had slipped. Caught off centre,

I feigned another reflective stare.

Fuck me ,unsure of so many things, just what specific thing

I‘d been so mute about, I really could not say.

 

'Our sessions are a journey,take your time

 

Whatever  the darknesses and doubts had brought

Me here, three years before I could scarcely recall.

Some Journey!

Caught without a map, possessed only of a cheap

And broken moral gps, I’dfelt I'd stumbled down endless narrow

Paths, scraped my knees and face, and crawled up shallow,

Rises to discover only escarpments too steep

To climb, and me, too weary to go back.

 

I'm not here to judge: there is no right or wrong '

 

 She’d always  reassure

 And disappear to make and proffer awful herbal tea.

 But this night, lying on her desk, ,beneath her plaques, a drawing by her neice:

‘My Shooting Stars’ by Alice.  A cliff edge ,a black crayoned sky, across

Which, an armada of asteroids sprinkled with glue and glitters

Sailed. A girl composed of sticks and triangle dress smiled

Up towards them.  My eyes were drawn down, to where her oval feet

Had kicked her tears, the size of pears, beyond the precipice.

 

 

Sometimes there has to be a time to stop

Her moment had arrived, and so, I  resolved  had mine.

I folded up the drawing and slipped silently

Out, my sessions forever done. Walking to the car,

I gazed heavenward; no falling meteors,

No miraculous act of serendipity.

I couldn’t care less. My folded drawing in breast pocket

Ignited hope, embering  in a phoenix heart.