the amulet
photo by DavidZydd at pixabay
the amulet
she asks me, what's this thing around my neck.
it's an amulet, i say, it will protect me.
it protects me from spirits and snakes and small arms.
she works her fingers down my spine, expertly.
it's just a dirty dark metal thing, she says.
she knows all the pressure points on the body.
she kneads those knots, the pain rushes out like a cat.
an Irish saint is in there, don't be rude, i say.
but what's an Irish saint gotta do with you?
oh sweet, can you be generous and give that piece to me?
and then i go out there and stop a bullet tomorrow?
please? she works her fingers again, expertly.
she knows all the pleasure points on the body.
she kneads those knots, my hand reaches out to her waist.
21/05/2020
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Band-Maid - Choose Me
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020
18 Comments:
I feel like I'm in the room, watching. Hm... that sounds creepier than I wanted to make it sound. Still, it's true--the piece pulls the reader into the moment, and the intimacy is shared.
This feels like it could be an exchange from a larger story, one about the things we put our faith in and what can never be bartered away, even to someone with a nice smile and skilled hands.
The first thing that jumped to mind was the Bible story of Samson and his Philistine wife. Nagging and begging and cajoling him to get something of value from him.
Very interesting poem.
Hmmmmmm. How about the rest of the story ???
Intriguing. Does he give it. I love the line about an Irish Saint being in there.
Well this is a teasing piece that screams for a follow up.
Seems you are enjoying massage in your retirement You dont really have a tattoo of St Patrick do you? :)Obviously this not a professional therapeutic massage...no reaching out for waists in those.... unless you forgot where you were and then you are in big big trouble:)
Magaly,
i like what you said about "the intimacy is shared". i am glad the reader can feel it that way.
and thanks for the heads-up to the typo. i will clear it up soon. :)
Rommy,
that's right, some things can never be bartered away. :)
Lisa,
thank you for the visit!
hmm, Samson and Delilah. that's an interesting connection. i like it when the reader sees the poem in a different light. :)
Beverly,
what "rest of the story"? 😁
Colleen,
i am not telling. 😁
Robin,
well, let me think about it. 😄
No, no, not in my retirement! That was a long time ago, when i was young and crazy and serving overseas.
it's not St. Patrick, but St. Brigid. and there's no tattoo. :)
Yes, beautifully told. And oh, I see in the comments that it's autobiographical. I sincerely hope you didn't give away Brigid!!! (Not only a Catholic saint but originally a Celtic goddess.)
And in case you didn't know, Brigid looks after poets among others.
Rosemary,
haha! i have given me it away! i still have that metal piece though it has been worn quite thin. it certainly gives me much confidence when i am wearing it during my service (though we're only supposed to wear dog tags).
yes, St. Brigid looks after babies, farm workers, travellers, fugitives and poets. :)
correction : i have given it away
(ah, lots of typos recently)
'a long time ago when I was young and crazy' ~~~ quite comforting to know I wasn't the only crazy out there! I love every line of this well crafted poem/story.
Some things you just don't barter with. Love this poem!
Echoing others, I feel as if I've wandered into a story and the request made seems more dangerous than not.
Helen,
i guess most of us were crazy once.. 😃
Susie,
no, some things we just want to hold on to. 😀
Chrissa,
it seems like that way...🙂
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