Sewn
And then there was the time
in which she cut off everything
and I don’t mean hair or carrot tops or
anything attached to another–
except herself, that is,
to him.
She tried to keep most of it pictorial–
the severed hands, breast, sex,
falling in still motion from her body
on the painted page, blood spurting
in wavy red lines that looked
like the symbol of sonar, except drawn
with her most delicate brush.
In real life, such as it was,
what she sliced was the time it took
to cross a street, to turn
a corner, to board a train,
darting in front of the bright swipes of everything
as if metal too
were insubstantial.
I don’t want to detail what he said
that woke her, only that it felt
unkind, the words
a cudgel.
Still, the blow somehow showed
the triviality of her scalpel,
the histrionic goofiness
of assumed amputation,
and the true dangers
of crossing busy streets.
And in the ache of the shockwave,
she began to re-member herself–
She heard in the rattle of old pipes
her grandmother’s tanned hands
checking in the oven a pan
of cinnamon rolls, ones she herself
had twirled.
In the glare of roof/window,
saw the grin of her father
over his paperback
against the fridge blue walls of the
doctor’s office as he waited with her,
as he always did, for her
weekly allergy shot,
after a long drive.
Her mother’s lap was in the front seat
of another car trip, making those perfectly
symmetrical sandwiches she managed, even at 65 miles
per hour;
while she herself jumped up and down,
on her childhood’s green sofa,
ecstatic in the terror of winged monkeys,
especially since she knew,
from annual viewings, that Dorothy would
be victorious, but through
no fault of her own.
I speak in flashes, as if it happened
fast, but the stitching
took some time. The needle hurt,
perforating, the thread pulled,
and the seams caught and ridged,
even when she used
her most delicate brush.
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Here’s a poem – yes, I will call it a draft poem (sorry – but I always feel like they are drafts when I’m still working on them and I’ve edited this one even after posting for my prompt on dVerse Poets Pub about remembering. Check out all the wonderful poets at dVerse.
And if you have any extra time, check out my books on Amazon!
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