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Gratitude to the Anonymous Client: A Poem              by Nicholas P. Sarantakis

I meet you every Thursday evening at 5pm,
sitting in front of my polished laptop screen,
wearing my serious, white shirt on top,
but my purple tartan pajamas underneath.

I am an actor stepping up on a half-stage,
marginally nervous until I cite my first line,

as you ponder along the tightrope of your lifeline.

Every Thursday at 5pm confirms we are both alive,
As I creep into the delightful maze you take me.
I appreciate you keeping me existentially wake,
as I stretch my soul to keep up with your dreams.

You always bring a full agenda of splendid topics,
and you ferment my words as tender dough,
before you mold them into a delicious cloud,
aromatic but not edible, true yet ineffable.

And thus my evenings unfold in front of my laptop screen,
as I travel into clients’ kitchens, attics, or garages,
as they secretly enter into my own crossroads and daydreams,
keeping me wondering, “will I have an answer this time?”

All my laptop world becomes a stage,
with men and women having their exits and their entrances.
They play their part, give a splendid speech,
and glow as a one-day living whitefly,
before they move gracefully backstage.

They come and go, land and flee away,
and I can never really know,
whether there’s still something alive there,
after my laptop screen shuts down
Could it be that only an empty space,
sprawling as a therapy encounter ends,
can be filled with the presence of “me” and “thou”? 

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