The needle is a fine strand of hair plucked from an aging scalp.

It is intentional in physiology:

Designed to be invincible, it pushes through flesh and muscle with ease.

It is good-willed in nature:

Dimpled at the end of a steel body, it permits quick removal.

Yet, as breakable as it seems at first puncture,

The metal point sends quicksilver through my veins, which

In its wake paves a path for the flow of vitality.

I lay with what seems like thousands of needles, and

I focus on the inkling of a feeling:

Each prick is a reminder of ancient history.

Each prick is the nature of traditional practice.

Each prick is a bookmark: the memory of a needle in time.

Written by

MIT ’21 / tech & society / creative writing / poetry / art

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