A Patient’s Experience, Expressed in Poetry

Posted with the kind permission of the author.

Poem for Elene

“That’s a nice image,” you said
As I lay on your table
Tiny needles emerging
From points
you carefully chose.
“Bumblebees aren’t supposed
To be able to fly
According to the science
Of aerodynamics,
But they don’t know that:
So, they keep flying anyway.”
In my mind
I see
A fat black bumblebee
Stumble his way
Into a pale, veined, delicate
Flower
Disappearing into its folds.
The flower bends
With the bumblebee’s weight
Until the bee emerges
Seconds later, looking for another bloom.
You are busy near my feet.
“How’s the headache?” you ask
As you put your hands on my temples.
You move to the other end
Of my body
Where I feel you
Pulling energy [worry, stress, fatigue]
Out of my toes. Then
You gently work on my neck.
You pull on my neck— ah, heaven.
I relax,
Wanting to sleep for a long time
Right there on your table.
I leave……..I go home
Feeling peaceful………..
As peaceful
As I felt last summer
As I watched
The
Unhurried,
Purposeful,
Impossible
Flight of the bumblebee.

— Diane Plummer
5/21/06

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