The Wastebasket


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-

fathomable room

empties the basketís store

of dried tears, rights an errant

cushion, and shuts the door.


 Jan Schreiber