Hilary King

THERAPY OF RED VINES®

I don’t sit in a minivan
at nine o’clock at night
in a CVS parking lot
eating Red Vines for pleasure,

I tell my imaginary therapist.
I’m eating my feelings.
Your feelings taste like
licorice? My therapist asks.

Yes, I say, this cliched rage
goes down like a pound
of red gummy sticks that
threaten my teeth and

reduce my stomach
to rubble for days.
Therapy was my husband’s
idea, one he would hand

to me when I was down
like a tissue or an apple.
I enjoy apples, how they sit
so solid in the hand, then

their flesh disappears
like a whisper within the body.
Whispering works as well
as shouting, my pretend therapist says

but I can’t hear anything
over the twisting of the empty
licorice wrapper as I
ball it up in my fist.