Alexithymia in 2020 America
We bring in each item:
one at a time
wipe it down with a Clorox wipe
Shadows crossing the threshold
My throat tightens
My stomach turns
My face remains the same
Northern winters subside early
Plans to landscape the yard
Keep Busy
Find joy in connecting with the earth
My enthusiasm for spring freedom is met
By first time back-alley encounters with the asthma gang
Somehow the wind isn’t knocked out of me
instead
The air is knocked into me – unable to breathe out
Drowning in banana slug filling my lungs as trees celebrate
Humans in captivity
I am the prisoner of my air filter –
Stockholm syndrome in the bedroom.
Suddenly, I am in a high-risk population.
Unemployed.
Surviving.
My therapist asks me about emotions
My throat tightens
My stomach turns
My face remains the same
I watch the door.
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