The end of the line, the middle
of the road. Where am I going?
A townhouse this time. Two
to a room, three rooms per unit.
Space for a third in the master.
Home with Kris again. Free
to come and go as I please,
but I only want solitude and quiet
and time to read. The tub is nice
and oddly long. I soaked most days.
Three hours of groups before noon.
Lunch. Leisure time. Self reflection.
For me, knitting and napping and writing.
Checks all the boxes.

“Anything under 11 hours a week
is considered outpatient.”
Art therapy Friday morning first.
Music therapy Friday morning second.

I saved every piece of artwork
Sang every single Friday.

Half a dozen repressed memories
unwillingly excavated.

My mind is haunted because it it built
atop a burial mound of pain and crisis.

Trauma bonding— night terrors
have me talking in my sleep, and Kris’s
night terrors have her respond.

Hospitalization, residential, PHP (partial hospitalization), IOP(intensive outpatient).

Not for nothing.