Grounding Exercise

The therapist said to stand in the yard

and let the clover take the heat from my head.

But the dirt is packed and the clay is hard,

and I’m thinking about the credit card instead.

Eight thousand dollars of invisible weight

pressed into the soles of my feet.

I step on an acorn, a jagged little fate,

that makes the failure feel suddenly complete.

When I lift my heel, the mark is a pale ghost,

a bloodless crater in the center of the skin.

I’m trying to be a tree, or a fence post,

but the math is the only thing that’s sinking in.