The Masseuse
- a Poem
- by Vinitta Mathew
The unglorified untier of knots,
The unassertive mind kneader
The calloused hands that work deftly
in a way easing her pains more than mine.
Unsure strokes as her fingers, meet poems
tween tangled overtures laden with pain memories.
She teases out;
From lines on my forehead,
oodles of stories that idle there.
From behind my ears,
everything I heard but didn’t take to heart.
From underneath my feet,
the fear of strange roads.
But traces of crazies’ refuse
to be cajoled out though.
What about muscle memories of past lovers?
What about lapses of judgement,
sprinkled liberally across every nerve?
Vinitta Mathew
from Thiruvananthapuram, in Kerala, India, writes for a living, to stay sane and to make sense of the chaos around. Vinitta has a master’s in mass-communication and is currently in the throngs of birthing a book of poems and that perfect self-obit! Her works have been featured in the Wingword Poetry Prize 2019 and on TheDelhiwalla website.
