Group Therapy

I look around and see The Big Bad Wolf, Goldilocks, and me. The point of group therapy Is to understand each other more carefully. The facilitator says, “You’re all a big mess. Through a poem, What does it means to be home?” The wolf starts with a huff And says, “I try to be tough. All I want are some friends Like sheep, pigs, and hens. I want a family. Trust me. I’m not an enemy. My true meaning of home Is anywhere I do not feel alone.” Goldilock beings. “No need for mansions. The porridge has to be right. The chair not too tight. I also want a bed Where I can happily rest my head. My true meaning of home Is anywhere as comfy as Styrofoam.” I guess I’m up. I look down at my coffee cup. “My true meaning of home Is yet to be known. I also seek company And preferences that fit me. But most importantly, My true meaning of home Is anywhere I can be me and freely roam.” The facilitator smiles And collects up her files. I think my job here is done. “I have no more advice. None. No need to investigate, Sherlock Holmes. You have all found your meaning of home.”