Today, I taste Chinese Medicine for the first time.

Clouds. Painting by the author.

Today, lying on a strange couch, skeleton on my right side –

I watch the clinical ceiling dissolve into powder and, glistening

I rise up.

Looking down, needles in my feet, needles in my wrist –

Needles in the crook of an arm that has grown spurs –

Spurs which become two glassy bell jars attached to the crepe skin –

I see that the two, tiny terrariums contain a spongy Rosalia substance, spotted with dark pink

Pulsing against the glass, sending a thick, red liquid, lapping:

My skin

My blood

The flesh off my bones…

He calls it “Ventouse” and as he sucks the thick liver blood away,

He explains that this is the blockage,

An emotional trauma, manifested in an old injury — waiting to be confronted.

He wraps my arms around me as if I am dead.

Then lies on top with his hands underneath my back

To crack the spine.

O god — this is terrifying!

He’s doing the thing you see in films where the head is held — then deftly twisted side back.