The Body Fable

 Kelly Sievers, CRNA

Spring 2005 - Volume 5 Number 2

 

A girl comes to our sterile cell bearing
nameless snakes on the muscle of an arm,
the rise of her ankle. A jewel blooms
in her navel. When we see the red flush
of her tattooed heart we all want to
touch it. Want to ruffle the plume of
purple that flowers above one breast.
 
She needs us, surgery, a plucking
of her torment. The surgeon toils
in a small wound avoiding a crown
of blackberry thorns. What light did she
lie beneath for a pen to green this vine
across her hip? We are lured, lost
in the feathered uncurlings of her leaves.
 
I remember when ‘Desire me’
was a weedy plague I hid within me.
Unfurled, invisible. I looked for
my reflection in every face on the
street. What could they see?
 
My fingers flutter above gold rings
piercing this girl’s eyebrows. I look
into pinpoint pupils. She ticks in darkness
in the garden of her body.

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