by Matthew Siegel
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).
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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