the massage

with her small
hands, the masseuse
kneads
her tightly
balled fist into
the nape of
your neck.
you are stretched
out naked
expect for a white
terry cloth
towel across
your backside.
your muscles are
tight, she says,
in good English.
you are knotted up
right here, she
whispers, as if it's
a secret. she crawls
onto the table
with her tiny body
to pound out
the lump of
muscle and sinew
that she has
found. why so much,
tension, she
says, digging
deep into the area
of concern
with her thumb.
it's my mother,
you tell her. that
one there is my
mother, the other
knot on the other
side is my ex,
and at the top
of my neck
and shoulders
is work. I understand,
she says.
I used to have
those lumps too.
but no more. I get
a massage all the time
and takes it away.
good, you tell her,
groaning a little
as she jams an elbow into
your shoulders.
can I walk on your back,
she says. i am light.
I can get deeper
that way.
sure, you tell her,
why not. join
the club.