.
Jungle fever
Dulls the brain
Weakened by exhaustion
I lie, wracked
Pale, emaciated
Red blood cells infected
By the protozoans of
dappled winged parasites.
Blood-letting
Medieval catch all mercury
swallowed
Leeching, purging
The horrid malevolent spirit remains
Resistant
against
The blood-sucking parasite
Dressed in Cinchona’s laurel like leaves
Wearing a crimson gown
The fairest of Peruvian hand maidens
Harvests the Jesuit bark
Methodically grinding seeds
Into a bitter, colourless, amorphous powder
Amounting to the weight
Of two small silver coins
The fine bitter tasting
Popish powder
A powerful antipyretic
Given as a beverage
Mixed with lemon and lime
Soothes the blood-sucking parasite
And words flow
seamlessly
In Melbourne as in Lima
Heather Blakey
8 comments
Comments feed for this article
February 3, 2007 at 7:04 am
Frances Sbrocchi
and may the flow of words sooth and bring comfort to the wounded soul
February 3, 2007 at 7:48 am
lorigloyd
Oh, Heather, I don’t think I’ve ever read your poetry before. So full of imagery.
February 3, 2007 at 11:09 am
faucon
I have always loved ‘tonic water’ as a refreshing uplift — especially in the heat. It must affect the spiritual heart as well
papa
February 3, 2007 at 12:12 pm
Anne
Quench that spirit’s thirst; love your poetry, Heather.
February 4, 2007 at 4:32 am
imogen88
Cool, Heather.
February 4, 2007 at 4:41 am
Anita Marie
That’s a girl -capture those little parasites and make them dance to your words Heather.
Anita Marie
February 4, 2007 at 10:34 pm
quinncreative
I’ll never have another vodka/tonic without thinking of this poem. Your poetry is strong stuff!
February 6, 2007 at 9:00 pm
jan2
Intriguing - furious?