Talk. You will be blessed.
I listen more than I speak.
You come to my office
for an hour each week.
I nod and push a box
of tissues across the desk.
Speak to me, you who suffers
in the comfy chair.
I shall listen through all
the seven sacred stages
of your model grief.
I shall help you dig
for versions of yourself,
folding back the shroud
on every headless body.