How Long Does It Take?

By Joan Mazza

If I could corral my wild mind, I’d lasso
thoughts of revenge that gallop in when
I’m not engaged in reading or writing.

If I could be mature enough to manage
my resentments, I’d file them in manila
folders, stuff them in a padlocked cabinet,

and toss the key. If I could, I’d forgive
myself for years of servitude, that human
eagerness to escape from freedom, surrender

to a guru, who knew everything about
everything, including publishing, although
he didn’t read or write books. He said all my

thoughts were neurotic. I was out of touch
with my emotions. When I was furious,
he decreed, You have no reason to be angry.

If I could let this go, I’d let memories dim,
open my fists, not want to kill him. He’s
dead. Although thirty years have passed,

I can’t forget. Some part of me clings
to upset, says, Not yet. Not yet.

Joan Mazza worked as a microbiologist and psychotherapist, and taught workshops on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam). Her poetry has appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Prairie Schooner, Adanna Literary Journal, Poet Lore, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia. www.JoanMazza.com