Posted by: marilynmendoza | October 27, 2011

Poem—- Fingers of healing AUTHOR MARILYN MAYA MENDOZA



As he shuffles in, I sigh,

Uncle Jimmy, old Hawaiian hands,

healing my sciatica when he seems to have more aliments than I

But in one light moment I am convinced I am mistaken

He leaves the area of pain after kneading it a bit

And as if he were one of the navigators of the Hokulea

with only stars as his implements

He manipulates my head

Stretching and pressing every nerve

instinctively knowing my trouble lies there

I close my eyes and hear our breathing, a duet of sound

As his strong, thick fingers, like the branch of a koa tree,

press like nails of iron against the root of my problem

Without the need of Enya, I feel as free as the Nene bird

He slathers and pats down liniments sent to him by

ancient healers of his craft, as if to

coerce the spirit of ancient gods to heal me

How did he know it was my head that held the secret to

my pain; that the mess was an inside job?

Holistic helper gently pummeling my scalp

muscle by muscle

My mind wanders to the Polynesian Voyaging Society

considered by government leaders not in the know, to be just an earmark,

not just a slim concession to a royal proud culture

stripped of their hula, their land, their language

I am light as air and in that canoe

praying or musing that I am with the first Hawaiians, and that

Lomi lomi massage is as honorable as voyaging by moonlight

I want to see the island where Jimmy and his wife Helen are from

Molokai the friendly island, where they told me, the sky is so vast and low, it’s

closer to heaven than anywhere else



  1. Nice, Marilyn!

  2. Thank you Boyd, I appreciate your comment. Prose was one of my healing tools aloha

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