The pandemic has put obstacles in our path we could not have imagined. Overcoming them may not be easy to do alone.

 

So we seek help. This is the case with . . .

 

 

The Masked Poet—Troubled And Confused

 

During the pandemic,

my poetic voice

had been silenced.

Troubled and confused,

I sat,

with mask covering my face,

on my therapist’s couch.

I’d been seeing him

for over a year,

since COVID-19

invaded my space,

and he considered me

an absolute grouch.

 

He had trouble

understanding

why I acted

as I did

and wanted

to help me

find the reason why.

So today,

he said

he would ask me

five questions

to get to the bottom

of the matter,

and hoped

I would give

the process a try.

 

The first question,

“Who is

the most important person

in my life?”

made me quiver

and rattled my brain.

I looked at him

with a puzzled expression

on my face

and muttered,

“This is hard for me

to address,

please let me explain.”

 

Not accepting

my hesitancy,

he stated,

“We must move on,

but if we have time,              

we can come back

to this one

later today.”

The second question,

“What treasure

would you like

to discover?”

left me perplexed,

so I said,

“I’m not sure

what to say.”

 

He looked at me

and groaned,

“You’re a poet,

with a voice.

You need to try

to make this work,

and I wish

you would.”

But before

I could respond,

he presented

the third question,

“What don’t I know               

about you

that I should?”

 

I stared at him

in disbelief

and replied,

“I have nothing

at all to hide

or, for that matter,

to tell.”

“Since you seem

to be reluctant

to share

your most personal thoughts,

as a normal poet would,

I don’t think

our session

is going well.

 

“If I can’t get you

to work with me,

I might

have to resort

to another technique,          

called hypnotherapy,

and, in that way,

delve into your mind.

“But first

let us attempt

to address

another question,

‘What would you do

if you

ruled the world?’

and through your response,

let’s see

what we find.”

 

“I would be a king,”

I yelled,

“and make

all the decisions

for those

under my rule.”

This proclamation

appeared to upend him

in a way

I couldn’t have predicted,

and he shouted,

“This session

is over!

You’re behaving

like a fool.”

 

“But I need your help,”

I cried.

“My mind

is boggled

and I’m at a loss

for words.           

As a poet,

this cannot be.”           

He didn’t respond.

He just pointed

to the door

and muttered,

under his breath,                 

“Nothing

can happen

if you won’t

open up

to me.”

 

Well, he never did ask

his final question.

He took my arm,

opened

his office door,

and told me to go.                         

However, as I did,

I felt

a sudden awakening

within me

and exclaimed,

“I am

the masked poet,

a man

of many words,

and this

you should know.

 

I will stand

on the street corner

and recite poetry

to people galore.

They will listen

to my treasured words

and applause

will fill the air

for the masked poet

they adore.

 

I bowed

to him

and said,

“Good-bye,

my good doctor,”

and went

on my way.

I left him

standing there,

wondering

what had happened,

with nothing

to say.

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.