Poison Ivy In My Thoughts Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

If I could touch my thoughts,
They would be numb and dull.
I could remove this poison
ivy that touched them long
ago. It itches and now and
then I keep scratching the
same place. I pull on the skin
and it turns reddish, and then
I stop only to start again.
I look for an antidote to stop
me scratching, and wish my
thoughts were in my hand
so I could deep it in water,
and pray for the itch to stop.

Even when people say I must
not go there, where the itch
is, I cannot help but do that,
because the pull to go there
is out of my control.

There have been times I have
thought of scratching the itchy
parts with a fragrance and softness
of a rose's petals, but even then
it really itched again.

What stops this itch, I ask
the sage? Nothing, really. What is
nothing? It is a thing that is
not there. Is that to mean
my scratching is like life,
it goes on and on endlessly?

Life has an end. It comes boom,
so the poison ivy in the heard
came boom, but the boom was
not live because you would have
heard it, and moved out of the way.
These stealthy moves come with
the manner in which the first
thoughts come. They do not
volunteer, so they cannot stop
when they want to. That is
why you scratch. It is like
trying to stop an ever ringing
bell. It will always ring. When you
learn to block your ears, you
will have done yourself some
good.

Will I not touch there? Even when
you do, the stopper that you have
used is yours to pull out. Thanks,
I say to the sage, and continue to
look for the right type of stopper
to use, to stop the scratching. Like
thimbles, my fingers start to fit
themselves with something that
gives me hope.