In the confession season

On a retreat,
somewhere in the Berkshires,
someone served us batter cakes
with blackberry brandy syrup
and I swear there was a coffin in
the middle of the living room
being used as a coffee table.

When I asked the mistress of the
house if this was true,
she put her index finger to her lips
and hushed me.

"Plenty of time for that," she said.
"Plenty of time. Let's play Twister!"

Last time I'd played Twister,
I ended up in the hospital with a
slipped disc so I politely declined
the invitation and retired to an
upstairs bedroom with clapboard
floors and aluminum siding walls.

Before I could settle into one of the
many hemp bean bag chairs,
(they felt like they were stuffed
with ball bearings),
the doorbell rang.

It took me a minute to realize that
it was the doorbell to my door,
not the front door,
so I opened it.

It was Serena,
a friend of mine from
the New School,

who was smiling like the
Dali Lama and looking
fashionably frugal in a dress she'd
recently made out of muslin sheets.

"I think I forgot to tell you..."

Her words faded away.

She withdrew.

Became suddenly shy,
which was unusual for Serena.

I cupped her left breast,
held it in my hand
and said,

"It's alright, Serena, you can do it."

Her head drooped.

She turned off her eyes.
"What is it, Serena?" I said.

She scratched the middle knuckle
on her right hand
so hard she drew blood.

"I used to give half a shit," she whispered.
"'Course, this was years ago...when I was
young and rambunctious...and far less
irritable...now everything is just so..."

Her left shoulder began to twitch.

"...perfunctory...obligatory...
I know I've kept a pretty low profile lately...
But I've been good for you, haven't I?
Mostly? On average?"

"Of course," I said.

She nodded. And seemed relieved.

"Well, that's grand," she said. "I'm glad
we can be so intensely personal with
each other."

She touched my lips with the peace sign.

My glasses began to fog up.

"Isn't coalescence a gift?" she said.

I was perspiring.

"Would you like to come in?" I said.

She paused,
slowly shook her head.

"I haven't meditated all day and I'm
feeling very raddled."

She turned to leave.

As she walked down the hall, she
chanted something inaudible.

I could suddenly hear my carotid artery
carrying blood to my head.

I got sleepy.

And for some reason, I felt remorseful.

I collapsed on top of about a half-dozen
bean bag chairs lit a Pall Mall and tried
to remember what kind of medication
I was on.

In another room, on another floor,
Serena sat gracefully,

in full lotus position,
looking like a watercolor daydream.