DSM-IV   Twelve times, I told him — twelve! I don’t know why she does this to me, why I let her. She says yes and the sun shines, no and it’s ice, and always . . . never . . . I know she loves me —   He stood, still saying nothing, nodded, crooked his finger, beckoned me to follow. I rose. He walked. I followed. He never looked back. Through murmuring corridors and high up stairs upon stairs, passing the lock wards, to his office, his desk, his chair. He bade me sit. I sat. He opened the book, said nothing, nodded, and left me there. The door closed softly. I read how the borderline shifts, can never be fixed.                                           That’s hers.                                                               What’s mine?     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont October 2009