Spinus tristis (from the Latin, meaning ‘sad’)

Just today, my therapist at the V.A. asked me,
What is it that you hope to see in a therapist?
I thought of vision, of the sight of her, which

was already before me, but then the true in-
sight of what it is I hope for. I said one word:
gentleness, and then explained that previous

counselors for some reason thought, because
I’m a vet, that they should be hard with me,
harsh. I have no interest in that, I said. I got

enough of that in the military.  Now, I said,
I want the opposite. Walking the hallways,
I felt I was in a world of vet, all white walls.

I craved the stained-glass of church, and all
of its smells: the incense, frankincense and
myrrh, smoky, sweet, spicy, aromatic, not

the first-floor V.A. smells of sickness.  I wish
this, I said, that the V.A. could feel more holy,
more faith-filled, more . . . gentle. Perhaps it’s

too much to ask. I looked out the window,
tried to catch sight of an American gold-
finch, fleeting by, a flash, its bright orange

beak, brown back, attempted to listen for
twitters, warbles, music, but the windows
were too thick. She thought I was having

a flashback, asked. No, I said, no, I just
thought I saw something beautiful.  And
we sat there in silence, in gentle silence.