‘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.
