AFTERNOON, ACUPUNCTURE

In her hand the glinting needle,

silvery

zhen

, drawn

toward the shadowed subcutaneous.

Swift stabs hiss their own savor.

As ever, sacrificial flesh

bears interrogation.

The empty territory marked,

the dimpled skin pricked open,

she seeks a destination,

disused harbor,

a boat’s inverted shadow, a sail’s shape.

Through twists and hollows, something comes.

Her face blurs, cools, like the time

borrowed oatmeal answered hunger.

I recall a light I’d seen before,

a mild, quiet afternoon, a voice

whispering as if to the needle:

“Eat, eat. Earn your living.”