i go for my massage
at the student clinic
but it's far from clinical
the only fleshy contact i've had in weeks
i preen like a cat when her fingers
touch down
i keep my purr silent, safely caged
so she won't think i'm a freak
but inside i'm glowing, so grateful
for this god-sent feeling
of worth, human-ness
deservement of pleasure
then she digs deep
into twisted tissue
untangling knots of
pressure, guilt, doubt
all the unfinished business
i carry around in that crowded
space between my shoulders
under that fragile neck
straining to keep
my head on straight
deep breaths she says
and I comply,
try to find the path
to letting go
4 comments:
Like the image of "unfinished business" carried around "in that crowded/space between my shoulders". Nice!
Is "deservement" a real word?
Not yet - in my prerogative as a poet, I'm adding to the lexicon!
Hey Polly
Nice sounds in this poem. My only quibble is the ending--I think the narrator has already found the path to letting go.
Polly - I have been right there. I mean, right there.
You cannot underestimate the power of human touch. The first massage after my break-up was so sexual it almost made me uncomfortable - until the deep breaths where you start to dig in to yourself.
Very powerful poem for me.
- J
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