Cheap Therapy Cheat Sheet

Tanja Lau

This poem was originally published by Part-Time Poets. Issue 29.

No excuses. Pick your next move:

Some people scream into pillows, others name

their grief Steve and set a place for him at dinner.

Mine is called Ernesto, he’s Swedish and he’s a stranger

to daylight, so I forgive him. Naturally, he likes to quote

Kierkegaard. That guy knew a thing or two about

connecting the dots backwards. But it’s the part

about living fast-forward Ernie conveniently swallows.

It still gets me every time. You know,

Ernesto can be a bit dramatic. He always wants me

to dress for my own funeral. But I pick the red backless

dress instead and microwave my lunch at 4 p.m. like Lady Madrid.

Yes, it’s good china Wednesday. Everyday. Time to crack

open that bottle of champagne I’ve been saving

for a special occasion. What’s more special

than being alive? After dinner, I serve two Oreos

like communion. (Take three, if you’re religious.)

For dessert there’s nothing better than writing

my name on the mirror. Kissing it. (With tongue

for advanced patients). And then the grand finale:

smashing the handmade mug from third grade

pottery class and spending two hours reassembling it.

Same same, but different. Just like me. In bed,

I make a vow to never again miss a chance

to dance it out in an elevator. Ernesto wouldn’t approve.

Who cares? He’s asleep by now.