DOCTOR

Your hands, Doctor,

healing hands that reassure

even with a cold touch, hands

that move my lips apart with latex

softness, a guerrilla in the jungle

parting leaves to spot the enemy.

Your hands, Doctor,

heavy hands that I remember as

your face remains veiled in smoke,

the hands that gave  me polio vaccine

like a secular Eucharist,  a pink blob on

a sugar lump placed gently on my tongue.

Your hands Doctor,

loving hands of my Doctor,

innocent of medicine but expert now in

my mature topography, hands that

probe my depths so that together

we may scale the heights.