Stitching skins
Fixing bones
Like one with God’s hands
She lives like sickness’ feared zone
None dares to look for any ills
In her body territory
But sicknesses know the saying
A cat is best suited
For the safekeeping of meat
So what she healed
Crawled like dying snakes
Into her being and gained strength
From her special places
So much for Godship prominence
“Mmmmm, Agyeiiii! Pue! Ahhhh!”
She lies in front of eyes of interest
Naked like a featherless fowl
Under the scrutiny of hungry but uninterested hawks
Receiving rains of shocks
From dark rooms of mouths
Some casting their sun’s rays
For others to have a proper look
Poor poor sick doctor!
I wish I had a hand like hers
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015
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