Sunday, May 31, 2015

The Saturday poem: At the community acupuncture clinic

by Matthew Siegel

 acupuncture needle
‘She hovers above each wrist and ankle, a hummingbird pressing its thin beak into flowers.’ Photograph: Getty
the forms are long ropes for climbing
into the heaven of good health.


They are held together with a clip,
a little mouth clamped down.


There is no space to write how the cold hands
of each doctor felt against my belly.


A volunteer takes me by the wrist
to meet the acupuncturist.


She flips through the pages of my blue scribbles
as I describe my complicated dream.


She wipes my forehead with an alcohol pad,
taps a needle into my third eye –


and I am almost silent now, just breathing,
as she hovers above each wrist and ankle,


a hummingbird pressing its thin beak
into flowers. My eyelids flutter each time


she taps a needle into me and when she’s done,
spreads a blanket across my body.


From Matthew Siegel’s Blood Work (CB Editions £8.99).

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