Itís done, for now Ė the grief,
isolation, rage, despair,
self-hate. The room is small
once more, with just a chair
and couch. The hours have ended.
Leaving their words that loomed
thick in the air, the patients
take up their lives, consumed
again in the unscripted
moment, while the one
who heard their dreadful secrets
and sat with each in the un-
empties the basketís store
of dried tears, rights an errant
cushion, and shuts the door.