Boxing with the lobster – Fokkina McDonnell


Only a thin dotted line separates

the lobster from his shadow.

A large leather glove

weaving left, now right

of its own accord.

Waving his claws

the lobster scuttles sideways.

Sounds of crushing

are carried on the wind.

Lonely he was and his loneliness

pulled him into my warm

and tranquil room.

He sat stiffly, face blank.

A hand grabbed the other arm

as he frowned through me

at pictures on the wall beyond.

In small muffled whispers

I heard the distant echoes

of leather thrashing.

Far above the black and brackish

line of time you will float,

I tell him and I shall guide you past

the places where you lingered.

Take a deep breath now and one more.

Hands resting in his lap

he settles into this journey.

For healing is still possible.

Fokkina McDonnell. 

Acknowledgement: this poem about Time-line therapy was published in Rapport no 39, Spring…

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