The Witch Doctor



And so he extracted his pound of flesh
Exacting his incisions
With the tender care
Of a learned man
Motions so expertly recited
I daresay I felt nothing
save for the pressure of his hand
Upon my wound
And the floating dream
Of the temporary drug
Expanding my lungs
Coursing through my veins
A barrier between reality and pain
Leaving me
With fluttering eyelids
Butterflies in a colored fog
And the disquietude of an invasion
The remnants of which are
A barely discernible scar
Upon the site of excavation
A necessary exchange
An empty chasm
Where once was disease
And a debt to the witch doctor
That can never be repaid

2 thoughts on “The Witch Doctor

  1. Michele that is such a meaningful poem, terrific!

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