Tranquil~
her hypnotic voice,
guided imagery
in the fifth floor
of an old home,
but on the fifth
floor, coffee
still flowed
freely and
though our eyes
were closed (I
peeked twice),
I was aware of
the drab room,
the stiff chairs.
I let her voice
carry me to the desert
where I became a
rosebush with pink
roses and deep
twisted roots,
fertile green leaves,
riddled with thorns...
and I expected her to
comment on my thorns
but it was the lady
with no thorns that
she singled out,
"If you have no thorns,
how do you
protect yourself?"
and we all were glad
for the thorns we
had earned to protect
our paper-thin blooms,
our fragile egos.