Dianna, goddess of the hunt


My tiny masseuse
Walks her practiced, powerful fingers
To find the knotted, bundled muscles in my neck
These angled cords and rods
Taut like bow against arrow
circle my head, ears, tipping my semicircular canals
Keep me from finding my sea legs
When try I to stand

She takes them as her mission
Finding fiery sore, angry places
where I didn’t know
I had places

She presses til my ears roar, rush, whistle.
Til my eyes well up with tears
Til I cry out for my mommy.

She hears no pleas for mercy
Only her fingers hear in her hunt
for errant myalgia.

My long irritated nerves
Creak under her ministrations
She releases the vile toxic acids
I have held there
Hunched over decades of computers.
Weighted by spreadsheets
Spread thin by deadlines and demands.

While I wonder why.
I pay for this by the hour
I know that I will pay for several days
Sleeping in hot baths
Surrounded by hot rice packs.

For days afterwards, I will find where
Her fingers traced a lineage of resentment
I will rework raw points with tennis balls
Round wooden pegs
until slowly released
rods and cones will allow me to turn my head from side to side
Without stagger or stumble.
Finally choleric bundles spun away

I realize as I text with Charlene and Rachel.
I do the same in my lone afternoons
And in my nightmares
I press hard against the knots of my failed history
In the night I grit my teeth
Until I crack the gold.Caps.
Wear through diamond drilled amalgams.

My mynd must relive every foolish blunder
The stupid and the unkind
The speaking before engaging the cortex
Cruelties both descending and ascending

Perhaps a few more sessions
Or a hundred more texts
gritty grains of angry sand
Will slide away

I will sleep without clenched jaws
Without angry knots at the base of my brain
And the dizzy sky
Will be just that
A blue canvas
And me.
my arms twirling me about
in winter’s ceaseless snow
Spinning spinning spinning
free
freed
from me
image

6 comments

  1. I used to tell mother,”It’s all in my mind”, but that is not completely true, although a lot of it is, a goodly portion is in the connected body. Mom didn’t agree with me then, and I’m guessing, she still would not agree if she were present with me now.
    When I go to the doctor with my painful complaints, feeling poorly, I leave feeling better, just from her pep talk, even though no treatment other than the talk. Forgive yourself.
    When Supper Time is called, I feel i cant eat, not due to the delicious, healthful meals she prepares but from what???? It’s partly in my mind. After reading Other comments I think she would agree
    .
    Dad.

    1. Oh those bones, oh those bones,
      oh those skeleton bones.
      Oh those bones, oh those bones,
      oh those skeleton bones.
      Oh those bones, oh those bones,
      oh those skeleton bones.
      Oh mercy how they scare!

      With the shoulder bone connected
      to the back bone,
      and the back bone connected
      to the neck bone,
      and the neck bone connected
      to the head bone.
      Oh mercy how they scare!

  2. Yes, it is sometimes hard to revisit those things we’d rather leave in the past, but it is also refreshing to vent to someone who has shared very similar things at the hands of someone who is either very cruel or simply does not have a clue as to the wreckage they have wrought upon more sensitive souls. Visiting with a kindred spirit who brings only understanding to such painful memories is refreshing because it not only validates how we felt when we were made to feel small, we also know are not alone. There is where we find strength over oppression.

  3. Wow! A good one! You sound like me, sis!

    God’s mercies are new every morning. Whew! I love wiping that slate clean! It brings me peace.

    We do love ya, ya know. Our mercies are new to you every morning, too.

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