Therapy

All master narratives of the mind in a rowboat and the rowboat as beautiful as the swamp

  glowing the dungeon-state lily pads, unfolding like riddles of water, the Plasticine

     heads of amphibians, speckled skin of religious fervor, and the razor-blade weeds.

All master narratives of the body in a rowboat at the bottom of the swamp that has no hands.

All master narratives of the spirit in the rowboat sky reflecting the infant swamp, clouds of filth, soil knotted like tupelos and toppled alphabets.

All master narratives of the skin in a rowboat inside a pine coffin of swamp water.

     All master narratives of thinking like a woman who says, 
“I choose inappropriate relationships.”

All master narratives of dramatic structure in the soggy swamp, against the humid flags beating the wind.

All master narratives of mythology like my son saying, “and then he turned into a very big wolf.”

“I think he was very sad.”

“He has feelings too, you know.”

“I think he was sad because he got trapped inside the doors.”

“Oh my god, there are different Fenrirs.”

“Loki’s Fenrir met a different Fenrir.”

“Are wolves part of the cat family?”

“Hey, look up on your phone if they can change forms because these guys look different from the real Fenrir.”

“See that white picture where he’s up on top? He turns huge and tries to eat the sun.”

              “Oh, that’s a tough Fenrir.”

                      “I think he obeys the serpent.”

              “Now that’s sad Fenrir.”

                           “Or maybe Loki turns into the serpent.”

              “Oh, Loki, are you a master of evil?”

“I think they can change forms.”