‘To My Therapist’ & ‘Sour Spring’

Serge Lecomte was born in Belgium. He came to the States where he spent his teens in South Philly and then Brooklyn. After graduating from Tilden H. S. he joined the Medical Corps in the Air Force. He earned an MA and Ph.D. from Vanderbilt University in Russian Literature with a minor in French Literature. He worked as a Green Beret language instructor at Fort Bragg, NC from 1975-78. In 1988 he received a B.A. from the University of Alaska Fairbanks in Spanish Literature. He worked as a language teacher at the University of Alaska (1978-1997). He worked as a house builder, pipe-fitter, orderly in a hospital, gardener, landscaper, driller for an assaying company, bartender and painter.

To My Therapist

 I had this luxury

To be able

To afford

Sounds to make

Words to babble

Burst my bubble

Know myself

and my self.

I had this luxury

You

Sitting there

On your wooden rusty chair

With your receding hair

line by line from what

Frued taught you

To ask me

So I can act – knowledge

My self and mistakes

And stakes

I didn’t eat

To beat to muse

Ick!

is my womanly manhood

abused…

Hunting, we were

in my mind

Like Robinhood

I had this luxury

To afford these words

Stealing from the past

and feeding the now

Bow down to tears

Dropped out of my shell

From the depth of my

Well

Being

better now

Cause the way I learned

To ask me about me.

I had this luxury

Until you had to ruin it.

I don’t absolutely hate you for it

I know why you’re doing it

You need to charge more

So you can have charge more

Barge lure light bore

Knees sore kill for

The freedom of my thoughts.

You helped me

become a hoarder

Of words and thoughts

And chaotic orders.

I had this luxury.      

Sour spring

right to left from write I words

Words of all my stolen rights.

Cause my world’s now upside down.

Light.

From

Escape

Here

Days

even

under the world that beings be

I write my words in Pomegranate blood as the red floods in to my veins used to be the tree sticks flourished with fruits and flowers

now next to the river Styx I sit and write of all the nothingness I bare foot on the lost souls lost life lost.

Oh mother Oh friends

I miss your joyous laughs

No mother No friends

this unbeing I can’t last alas as much as I scrimmage the past I'm stuck here to be the queen of no one and nothing.

Living is what I'm good at not being queen.

oh mother

I feel you wonder and how you wander around Every step you take a pomegranate falls down from below.

I miss the tenderness of your sweet touch

Oh mother Oh gods

save me from Hades’ clutch.

Yazdan Khoshsirat is a 25-year-old teacher from Tehran, who has a deep passion for expression through art. Khoshsirat’s poems have been featured three times in the official English magazine of Al Zahra University, the renowned all-girls institution in Iran.