"Transference"

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I can’t remember what he says

this first session, only his careful attention

and a sense he sees through my camouflage.

I feel I’ve known him a long time,

familiar as red in the maple outside

or the smell of leather on my father’s skin.

When I cry, tissues are at hand,

and when I sob, he listens, alert,

silent, which comforts me and is sufficient.

And I feel closer to him than 50 minutes

should allow, a puzzled sensation

I’ve known him all my life.

Certain I have chosen wisely,

I reach out to say Good bye Jerry,

my dead father’s name.

Dr Berlin has been writing a poem about his experience of being a doctor every month for the past 27 years in Psychiatric Times in a column called “Poetry of the Times.” He is an instructor in psychiatry, University of Massachusetts Medical School, Worcester, Massachusetts. His latest book is Tender Fences.