THE FIFTY-MINUTE HOUR 

Behind pink stratus 
the moon changed, 
vagrant, non- 
directional. 

God bless the psychiatrist. 
He has sat in learning rooms 
half his life to help you. 

The orange of it burned 
summer to autumn. 
Cars got stuck. 
People moved.

Do not take his silences 
to mean more than thought 
working a hooped magic. 

Warm tones of earth and corn 
were everywhere 
until the milk-white skies 
of winter set in. 

All he has to work with 
is what you tell him.
Remember that he loves you. 

Now, neighbor kids garble profanities. 
Without looking up 
I know the sky is solid blue, 

that a bamboo rake leans eagerly 
where I left it and the hose 
rears for my attention-- 

He has a drinking problem 
just like yours 
but he won't let you know. 

another green snake coiled all winter
ready to strike 
with water, water, water. 

           Teresa White 
TERESA WHITE considers poetry her first love, but she also enjoys watercolor painting, gardening, and singing/playing the guitar.  For years she did secretarial work but is presently on disability for psychiatric illness. Teresa has had over 150 poems and four short stories published in on-line journals over the last 3 years. 300 of her early poems are in her book In What Furnace? (Two Steps Publishing, 1997). She was  nominated for a Pushcart Prize by The Melic Review in 1999. 

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