Kneading by HLR

for Arif

the blunt nub of his elbow pressed
deep in the antique knot in my neck my god
you are so tense he said it took great effort to force
my body into a relaxed pose and hold it
there while he worked to knead the stress out of my flesh
convinced it would be easy to untangle me
with an expert blend of pressure / angle / technique
but he won’t find what he’s looking for
in my body none of my spots are sweet
his feeling (of) me is an exercise
in futility I let him think he had released
all of the worry I feel so much better I said
your hands are magic as the tension
in me screeched underneath
his thumbprints left
behind in red.

………………..

HLR (she/her) writes poetry and short prose about living with chronic mental illness, trauma, and grief. She is the author of prosetry collection History of Present Complaint (Close to the Bone) and micro-chap Portrait of the Poet as a Hot Mess (Ghost City Press). HLR lives in north London.

Twitter: @HLRwriter