Warm olive oil drips
from her fingertips onto
my tight, tender muscles
as she massages my body.
It takes me back to a time,
when my children were infants,
and I rubbed them with baby oil
except her touch is firmer.
As the therapist strokes my arm,
she hands me a warm stone,
before sliding it up and down
my arms in a slow motion.
She tells about Indians,
how they once took stones
from creeks and heated them
to warm their bodies at night.
I think of mountain streams,
wildflowers and fresh cool air
as the warmth of the stones lull
me into a world of perfect peace.
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