A poem in support of cognitive behavioral therapy.

“Pretty, your tattoo.”

“Have you seen one before?”

“Don’t think so, does it mean something?”

“So, you know, when you start a new paragraph, there’s that thing – like a ‘P’ with two sticks?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“It’s just like that. It’s called a hedera. But it’s not really used anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh I don’t know… it’s just an old pilcrow, well almost. Lost – mm – needless punctuation.”

“A pretty pilcrow, how about that? So where does it go – at the start of a new…?”

“Leaf? You know, a new idea or, chapter, or, PAGE – like when papyrus was paper, so paper was leaves. Or like in Docs or, Word, under_Format > there’s_Special Characters > and if you click [Ornaments] in, uh, in the DROPDOWN, you can sometimes, um. Find them there.”

“In Ornaments, huh, how cool.”

“You don’t have to think so.”

“Okay. I want you to hear me say this though: It wasn’t your fault.”

“Right. IT WASN’T MY FAULT!!!!! Wait what wasn’t my fault?”

“Your ornament, it fell off the tree. I didn’t see you drop it, but I see you trying to pick it up.”

“The ornament?”

“Yeah – It’s just hard to see because you’re right up in the branches, and worried about the tree falling down, and how to root around without getting stuck – or scraped, and oh, probably breaking something too – It’s okay. I’m your spotter! I got you! You just need to reach out and pick it up.”

“Pick it up? The ornament?”

“Sure, the pretty pilcrow should be in its proper place on your tree.”

“Yeah…okay…Today?”

“How about next Wednesday?”

by Kailey Ann