This is a poem by Jenny McBride.
My ex-husband works
in a bookstore and he says
the psychology section is always
Books crammed on the shelf
into spaces where they don’t fit,
piled into disarrays of discrepancy,
anxiety, futility, confusion,
heaps of frustration,
jumbles of psychic pain,
wayward errors of identity
While the yoga and self-help sections
remain quietly tidy.
Jenny McBride’s writing has appeared in Star 82 Review, The Rappahannock Review, Green Social Thought, Streetwise, Conclave, and other journals. She makes her home in the rain forest of southeast Alaska.