In this memory I am pink skin thin
biting my hand in kindergarten
until the teeth marks show
and the teacher says
why did you do that? don’t do that
Idon’tknow;okay
I hide the hand under the desk
in this memory
and pretend
she is talking to someone else
*
Thin skin pink, in this memory I am back
chickenpox meant no dancing with Nathaniel
no more friends with Mary Beth
In the fifth grade I am informed that
while I was gone
she shared her crayons with Faith
and so they are best friends now
despite the ring holder
she gave me for Christmas
which I accidentally broke for spite
*
In this memory now I am chills
pink think skink
all studied for a driver’s test
but I can’t parallel park
unless no one is watching
I pass despite the fact my dad said, “Dad,”
to the police officer running the test
who said, “I’m not your dad,”
to him and I thought I’d be eliminated
guilt – by association with rudeness
*
Thin skin pin I am translucent
in this memory, twenty,
sick with the flu and brutal
my thoughts fevered and clear
my words harsh, erupting
I am standing at the bathroom mirror
watching my blood flow in blue veins
as see-through as a jellyfish
which will sting you
and make you piss on yourself for relief
*
This is the last lament.
In this memory I am thin pink skin
the unborn mother pacing fear and strength
this is my body which is broken for you
don’t think anything of it, I say
to the man who is sleeping
to the baby who is being pushed forward
I myself will find myself
In the middle of this bloody gush show
it is not you who are delivered, but I