To My About-To-Be-Ex-Therapist- Poetry by Caolyn Martin


About our session this afternoon, I’m confused:
you diagnosed my ergophobia with sadness 
in your voice. No offense, but after 40 years 
of Type-A overdrive, I’ve earned this new paradigm. 
Put this in your notes: I’ve replaced chronic threats
of nothing-to-do with perfected laziness.
My fear of boredom? Relieved by mindfulness.
From my ergonomic chair, I spend hours 
tracing the texture of walls and studying 
slight tilts of Chinese serigraphs.
I’m happy to report the woman side-saddling
the panther’s back hasn’t slipped off yet
and the lotus pond hasn’t flooded our family room.
As for the cobwebs swaying behind the étagère?
They haven’t ceased to captivate. Anyway,
thanks for helping me define work as what
I say it is. My business suits and black pumps
are up for grabs at Goodwill; my office files
free of contracts, flight plans, and syllabi.
I’m noodling with a blog about the joys 
of nothing much. Maybe you’ll subscribe.


If I told you I have four collections of my own,
you would politely nod and act impressed – 
you with your fifteen, reams of awards, 
and videos on well-lit platforms
where you never need to adjust the mic
because its height is designed for you –
as is the lectern and semi-comfortable chair 
where you sit with a practiced host 
who asks questions I’ve memorized the answers to.

That’s because I’ve tracked your You-Tube clips
repeatedly for insights, inspirations or, 
if Truth nudges me hard enough, excuses
to avoid Googling great cities of the world
for images to upscale a mediocre poem
that refuses to say where it wants to go.  

You, on the other hand, never fail to disappoint –
like the feral cat who strolls across 
the patio and swats the sliding door
or the flicker who delights in my suet cake. 

I count on certain things: that noncommittal pet,
an orange feather lying in the grass, and your glasses
that may – or not – stay on your nose
while you read from The Rain in Portugal
or from Sailing Alone Around a Room – 
a nautical activity, I’m not ashamed 
to admit, I practice when no one’s home.

Carolyn Martin

Find Carolyn Martin’s, Penchant for Masquerades on Amazon

About the contributor

Carolyn Martin has journeyed from New Jersey to Oregon to discover Douglas firs, months of rain, and dry summers. Her poems and book reviews have appeared in publications throughout North America and the UK including “Stirring,” “Naugatuck River Review,” “CALYX,” “The Curlew,” and “Antiphon.” Her fourth collection, A Penchant for Masquerades, was released in February, 2019 by Unsolicited Press. She is currently the poetry editor of Kosmos Quarterly: journal for global transformation.

Related Articles

Poetry by Charles G Lauder

Looking Back The moment was a colossus we built up to, at first with wheelbarrows of sand to mix the mortar, simple bamboo scaffolding, then, as tension mounted,...

Iain Campbell. Watching the Weather

Iain Campbell's poetry is inspired by his love of the landscape and the sea, often intertwined with a tale of someone he has met, or of a journey he has undertaken.

These are the Thoughts

John Berryman said our poetry should be something no one else could do. I've tried to focus on that idea.

More Like This

Poetry by Charles G Lauder

Looking Back The moment was a colossus we built up to, at first with wheelbarrows of sand to mix the mortar, simple bamboo scaffolding, then, as tension mounted,...

Poetry- Dana St Mary

the flag keeper he walks slowly to the place with that solemnity that cadavers bring, and leans the heavy ladder on the mast-like pole. a tilted head and gooseflesh show that today...

Wild Quiet- Derek Kannemeyer

Derek Kannemeyer was born in Cape Town, South Africa, raised in London.

Scottish poet, Pippa Little

Pippa Little's work considers life and mortality in this well crafted hand of poems.

Poetry- Melissa Mulvihill

Fata Morgana I am lost on the Lake deliberately at sea tossing about in moody waves raging in storms of fictive selves struggling for a critical angle ebbing in the middle...