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Acupuncture After an email from poet Steven Heighton, a physio session with Chrishan and a line from the poem "City Scene in Snow" by Jonathan Greene
by
Liz Zetlin

 
Yesterday was like that.
Not wanting the day to end.
A rush of well-being floods organs and limbs.
Smiles incubate from moment to moment
as a great lyric poet, an Orpheus really, tells me
about his dog, like a white arctic wolf, humane
society adoption, he says, with slightly stubby legs.
They walk for hours and hours, and it has been
his salvation, his “four-legged pharmaceutical.”

Me, I sit on the floor cross-legged
and breathe, spin clockwise twenty-one times,
eyes fixed on a small frowning teddy bear
tacked to the wall, tramp through the woods
to the surging river, attempt a poem a day,
talk to strangers about intimate things,
bring poets to town.

Yesterday I drove through deep snow,
lay curtained on a padded table, face
suspended in the (w)hole, three needles
in my gluteus maximus. Their placement based
on the number of days of the year, the number
of rivers flowing through the Chinese empire,
patterns of disharmony and
other mystical considerations.

Muscles spasm and relax.
The flow of energy begins its restoration.
A kind face enters the room, a hand
touches my back. We laugh
about needle length and pains
in the butt. Meanwhile,
the moon shade of yin
marries the sun shine of yang.

--Submitted by ezetlin on 2011-02-27.
Post New Comment:
anndeupree:
My daughter and her husband are acupuncturists; this poem will go to them for sure. I like it very much. Thank you, Liz. Ann
Posted 04/20/2011 06:53 AM


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