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THE SPOT HEALER 

i have been given a young umbrella tree 
she hath a white twisted trunk 
in a configuration 
of 
3 

this tree did dwell in the bedroom 
of 
a 
man 
who possessed a cello’s voice 
a quaking bed 
3 tall windows that stared at mountains 

this man was obsessed by a blue & white beauty 
the umbrella tree witnessed long nights 
of 
betrayal 

on her slender leaves 
her tortured trunk 
spots 
appeared 

one day I entered this room 
the umbrella tree was dying 
in her branches he’d hung 
the picture 
of 
a guru 
at her feet he placed 
plant food 
white 
as a blind man’s stick 

over the cruel floor boards 
her aura reached out 
nearer & nearer to death’s seed 
my painted eyes 

I have been given a young umbrella tree 
she hath a white twisted trunk 
in a configuration 
of 
3 

she doth dwell outside my door 
each morn 
i touch her spots 

i have become the spot healer 
tho 
my 
spots 
remain 

nesting in souls shade 
i cannot remove them

1970 – WAIHEKE ISLAND 

the room with the black stove 
was 
small – bare 
broken 

its window – cracked 
the child played in this room 
on a cold night 
creeping over the floor 
playing 
with dried oil paints 
under a naked light bulb 

in the corner 
above a huge mirror 
was a hole in the ceiling 
shewing the dead leaves 
of a rats nest 

around the peeling walls 
were pictures 
by my first born 
of people in 2 faces 
their hands 
exploding fireworks 
their 
eyes 
whirl pools 

© All Copyright, Christina Conrad.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.