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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=353686" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Crisis Counselor</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=353686" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">She was a coat of arms <br>seasoned for the job -- tough <br>and polished like tortoise shell. <br>When the women were tougher, <br>she'd tuck her advice-giving head <br>back against the executive chair, <br>let them try to fluff bent feathers, <br>watch them falling to their feet. <br>Then, her little turtle arms <br>would stretch out across the desk; <br>try to float a form -- <br>a restraining order, maybe <br>a list of early warning signs -- <br>but they'd keep on sleeping, sleep <br>hard through the sessions she'd spend <br>blowing on plastic ships, paper sails <br>rarely reaching port, and they would cry <br>like little children watching helpless, <br>dazed as she sunk their dreamboats, <br>sat on them, no coming up for air. <br>And perhaps she'd think of the little turtles <br>we'd kept confined to bathtubs as kids, <br>or of the public safety commercials <br>telling mother how, if she turned her back, <br>we could fall to sleep, slide and drown <br>in barely an inch of sitting water.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=C.J.+Sage">C.J. Sage</a></strong></div>