Healed Poem by Val Morehouse

Healed



With knives he carves my woman’s flesh
into new peaks and valleys, cuts
out the center of rebellion,
that audacity of dysfunction,
tying me together with twine like
a human bridge suspended over the
chasm of ends and beginnings.

My body hangs swinging gently
from strings like a puppet.
“Two weeks, ” he says, “come back
and you will be healed.” Healed?
No. I will be born again into myself,
strings cut, escaped in disguise,
a duplicate of a remembered original.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Sally Carter 19 July 2009

Thought provoking, with interesting imagery. I found the picture of the body being trussed up with twine particularly vivid. Like this one a lot.

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Ivan Donn Carswell 19 July 2009

The notion of 'cut and be healed' has to be a surgical non-sequitur; perhaps the easy answer to rebirth. Restrained depiction Val, depth and expression muted but powerful. Love it! Regards, Ivan

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