In Memory of the Person I Was

4:02 pm in the parking lot

my Father can smell the fear reeking from my jacket

with the three holes on the right sleeve

that resemble a smiley face  

a topic he always teases me about

but today he keeps his mouth shut

I’m not sure if that dollhouse in the waiting room has ever been used

judging by all the dust it's been collecting

but in it, I find the strangest things

I’ve been trying to repress

I catch a tear falling down the face of a doll

she’s tangled in her bedsheets

made of napkins

the plastic kitchen sink is filled to the brim of forks

comprised of toothpicks

and her dog made of dried Play-Doh hasn’t been fed Cheez-Its in 3 days  

“What is the one thing you want to get out of therapy?”

it’s a funny thing

“A” has asked me

the therapist with the snow hair has asked me

but this time

when Lee asks me,

it is a genuine thing

and for the first time

it is an unsettling question

swallowing a lump, I pick at the skin of my fingers

“Have you fed that dog in the dollhouse yet?”