Peter Gorman
Continuity

Should I have seen

a trip of the wire –

a branded, obvious clue

scratched in those notes?

Our talk had become communion.

We were not stuck in silence, but patiently

waiting all the while, his finger

resting near his temporal lobe

as if he was memorizing everything

about me, our conversation

and my reactions.

He averted his glance from me

and looked out his office window,

knowing I was confused

and lost in my own ideas.

I looked at my pages again,

cocooned in ink. As if his advice

went pouring into my head, he nodded,

smiled reliably, and said,

“You’ll know what to do.”