A letter to my chiropractor:
When I saw you last December,
your warm fingers on my neck felt reassuring —
it’s pure trust, letting someone adjust your spine.
“Relax,” you commanded, for I was tense.
The muscles surrounding my precious cervical vertebrae
relaxed into your palms.
I told you I was tense because I was worried,
really worried about the Trump administration…
Your healing hands moved to my shoulder, the tricky one.
You felt, you pulled, you pushed,
you said, with a chuckle: “Oh, come on, now.
You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
I said I worried about my friends and loved ones,
the non-Christian, the non-white, the LGBTQ, and immigrants, too.
And, that I was also very worried that my ACA insurance
would be taken away, that I’d not have any insurance
because hey I’m old enough now to have a track record
and anyone with a track record
involving two near-death medical experiences
looks like a big old pre-existing exclusion
Your right hand was on my thigh, left hand cradling my shoulder
You pulled me back against your body, almost lover-like,
to twist my spine
(real healing requires trust)
You laughed.
You said, “Oh nothing will change!
Relax! No one’s gonna take your insurance away.”
You were not the first white professional man
to hush me, tell me everything would be fine.
(I’m just sorry that you were wrong.)
Business may become very lean, doctor.
It seems strong spines have gone
out of fashion in many circles.