Anxiety in the rocking chair

This is one of those times I wonder what defines me, what the future holds.  My fear, of course, is that it holds nothing.   In these moments Anxiety sits across from me, stares me in the eye.  I have given her my father*s sweater jacket, the one he used to wear on his farm in Wisconsin, and my blue and white sweater socks.  She and I will go for a massage next week, get our shoulders back into place.  Right now we*re drinking tea.

Tonight I sit with Anxiety

Across from me

In the rocking chair.

She rocks

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

She wears three mismatched sweaters,

Red and purple,

Moss green knit

Fake fleece inside,

Moth hole chewed into the left sleeve,

Her father used to wear it

On the farm.

Blue and white sweater socks

Hold her feet.

Anxiety*s shoulders

Hunch up around her ears.

I promise to call tomorrow,

Make her an appointment

For a massage

Early next week.

She wonders out loud

If tea would be a good idea.

What a good idea

I say

Let me put the kettle on.