Doctor Ivan

after Anne Sexton

 

You, Doctor Ivan, in your office, prescribed

me Valium and antidepressants --

two of them, when one was ineffective.

 

Once I would have found myself

hearing your name on the intercom

and trying to connect with others,

shuffling into the cafeteria or the courtyard

with a Marlboro Red and chlorpromazine,

spitting pills into planters when Sister Annabelle

with the daisy earrings turns her back.

 

Instead, I sit in a carpeted lounge

nervously tapping my foot and Googling

'political abuse of psychiatry in the Soviet Union'

until you call me in, and ask me to take a seat.

You ask me if I'm anxious now?

and why am I anxious now?

And I lie that this is unfamiliar,

when in fact I thought you might be old.

 

You scribble words I hope the pharmacist can read

because I can't decipher either drug or dose or frequency.

But you tell me, Doctor Ivan,

that this will make me less afraid,

in a soft voice that soothes my jagged nerves.

 

ⓒ 'Moth 2020-2024