To A Sickness Poem by RIC BASTASA

on a few steps one grasps
for breathe
and stops awhile to rest

the doctors laugh
there is nothing that says
that a part of your body
is sick

you resign for something
embrace what cannot be possible
in your matrix of beliefs

here comes an old woman
with short hands
gnarled fingers and cannot even
understand English

she looks at you
her gaze penetrates the layers of your being
and touches your soul

she lifts her head to the sky
and talks to the sun
and says that there is a needle sticking to your left arm
you cannot see what it is
or where it is

she only asks you to believe
and then you are well