Recovery

A Poem by Kathryn Mote

Learning how to talk in Therapy

The lightening split the sky to be answered with a thunderous roar. Fight or flight? Jolted back to consciousness to the heavy weight of waves as the storm drags your helpless carcass under the fury of the waves. You flail utterly helpless as recollection of the events that brought you to this moment come into focus. A water vessel of some sort? Was your body cascading down from the heavens as the unforgiving lights from the God's decided your fate and the fate of all others in the sky. Some cruel irony as man ascended into the heavens unbinding by humanities role only to be introduced to another location which we were not welcome.

The weakening person tore to the surface again and thirstily gulped for the oxygen their body was so deprived of. Darkness engulfed their sight, cognitive functions failed, survival seemed futile. Then they saw it. It seemed unattainable and perhaps a sick joke life was playing on their eyes. But it was really there. A life preserve. The color was as bright as the crescendo of an orchestra playing their final note. It gave them the one thing they believed they lost. Hope.

With every muscle they had, with every wave they fought, nothing could stop them. Hand outstretched and tears glistening down their already drenched cheeks...

Their session was over