Healing Time

Rocking to…

Just a few minutes more,

my horse and me,
almost there.

Remember our primitive forest,
kitchen chairs,
chrome trunks,
yellow and green tree tops,
nesting places for the vultures,
always present,
always ready to prey?

Rocking around…

Kitchen cabinet canyons,
scarred timber walls,
smooth worn knobs,
magic openings,
caves for hiding.

Rocking through…

Familiar terrain,
approaching tiered rise,
the climb we've never finished,
Trigger and me,
up into air,
just for us.

Rocking forward…

So much ground to cover,

Nurse Norma always eying me,
touching my shoulder.

She knows
we're almost there,
almost ready to climb,
off old pinto,
once we're to the top.

But…

Not today.

Not enough time.

Group time.

Pill time.

Healing time.

Why to they call it healing time?

Why would I want to heal our memories, Trigger?