Rathke’s Pouch
As you read
Place the tip of your tongue
Against the roof of your mouth
Explore the dome
And there in the centre at the vertex
Is a small pit
This is Rathke’s Pouch
We all have one
But most have never known it
Even though the tongue lies against it every day.
When you were developing in your mother’s womb
This is where an important part of your brain was
It then migrated to within your skull
Thus we are made of mysteries
And this is only the physical man
Think of all the migrations
And fusions and elliptical journeys
That your mind made
As it formed your thinking
And your soul made
As it formed your feelings.
And where is the tongue
Of your soul
To lick the making of yourself?
John Martin’s 2004 collection, The Origin of Loneliness was followed by poems in The London Magazine, Magma, The Lancet, Dreich, Trasna, Drawn to the Light and Ink Drinkers magazines. A former soldier, he studied philosophy before medicine and currently works as a doctor and scientist in Europe and the US.