Health Check

(i)

My new nurse, dressed in her
crimson robes, has a
craving for the mysterious.

She leads me out of the walk-in
city clinic and opens
a secret door – conjures

lush forest glades,
meadow banks and pig weed
as far as the eye can see.

"Give thanks to the
morning sun" she says and my
breathing is deep, clear

and infinite as I recognize
this place as a mirror
of the mind, an obscure force

stirring within the purest,
softest form. My new nurse
checks my pulse, asseses

the damage of my inner-
most wounds. Do I trust her ?
She is young, certainly –

a sultry hierophant - thorough
in her work. Her swabs are plucked
from the hawthorn, her lint

twirls grow in clumps
by the wayside, her calcium
shots cool in labyrinthine

tunnels deep below the earth.
She tells me to bathe and laughs
at my modesty. She asks if I

am afraid and when I answer
"Yes" swears me to silence in
our extended meditation.

(ii)

And when the organs of
earth erupt my pulse races
like a flock of scattering gulls.

An indigo sky mirrors
the colour of my blush -
delicate, fleeting, like

cloud languishing
over a meadow. I struggle
to hide myself and

my nurse shows her displeasure.
“The earth's lumbers
will soothe you;

its nectars, that bleed
from the holy marshes,
will comfort you;

the seeping reeds and
fragrances will conspire
and fortify your soul."

She has made up a bottle,
this mysterious girl,
of ergot and barley

to offer her libations
and she tells me to drink
my fill. The liquid is dense,

bitter, rooted with seed.
I grow weak with it and, as
I fall, her hands grip my neck

and forehead foreshadowing
the tumours to come. I close
my eyes, soothed by the wonder

of her prayers – prayers
that murmur and echo deep
throughout the forest of an

anxious mind. And I dream:
I dream I am baptised in mud;
I dream I am immersed and

entangled in undergrowth.
And then the strangest thing:
the river that runs and sparkles,

the sweet water in it,
becomes my blood; the trees,
ancient as they are, become

my bones; the moist ripe fingers
of grass, so cool and fragrant,
become my skin.

"Remember this" my new nurse
whispers "The terror of
all our births."

(iii)

Twilight in this new clinic:
my cotton shirt absorbing
the day's moistures, my legs,

arms and hair attracting
damson flies, juiced-up
and gorged on earth's

abundance, ready now
to furrow their scent
into the sky. As I stir

my nurse tells me how I
too was moulded into earth,
how I too became invisible

and remained so until
this hour, invisible to her
and to myself, intoxicated

by the heart of the forest.
It is now that my nurse
cleans me with her swabs

feeds me nectar with her drip,
purges the residues of
this incomplete journey with

fresh ears of wheat. Who is to say
that one so young and thorough
and mysterious cannot guide me ?

She has transported me safely
through intimate levels of
well-being. Her clinic is a

clinic of wonder, scent and
solace; it offers birth and more:
resurrection. "What is your name ?"

I say but she has gone
and my question is a foolish one.
She is Demeter.

She is Minerva. She is Isis,
Lakshmi and Samhain. My health
check is complete.