I live a moving life with the knots in my back
Each continent a massage table with the knots in my back

Wiry French Buddha with Sanskrit up to his elbows, gentle voice tells me I will cry
Tsk-ing at the tenacity of the knots in my back

Small Vietnamese grouch grabs a hot buckwheat pillow, takes my neck firmly
Satisfied sound when she expels the knots in my back

Large Belgian bread maker folds me in half, laughs when I pop and crack
Unrelenting kneading of the knots in my back

Standing upside down in a chair, head loose and full of extra blood
Changing perspective of the knots in my back

Lover holds me in the night in a specific manner, kisses and readjusts the spoon
Ever attentive to the needs of the knots in my back

Strong Guinean fingers don’t know “less” in French and my Susu is weak
With small gasps I writhe as she attacks the knots in my back

So many soft rooms with the same aloe plant, humidifier light, bowl with flower floating
Same bamboo music to soothe the knots in my back

Same draped tables with sheets of various colors, my clothing removed, fragile feeling
Letting the world feel the knots in my back

Then off into the sky again, until the next country’s views and vistas and parlors
Are as familiar to me as the knots in my back