I took off the first plaster on the third day.
Right on the vein I could see the tiny hole
Left by the needle’s puncture.
I thought about the results; I craved the sea:
The eternal hollow of its belly,
Food tastes like crinoline now, not of ginger and turmeric,
Its devastating carnival flushes staining my tongue crimson.
When I was younger, writing death
Was with cake and laughter;
Even walking the elephant-grey corridors I was a success.
And now it’s for real.
On the fourth day I ripped off the second plaster like a Brazilian wax
As the area was larger and more hairy.
I squeezed the bruise around the vein, purple and fresh
On the soft underbelly of my cream marble arm
Like Venus de Milo.
The results of this one will be for my primary sins.
Please God, don’t let me have a disease;
Please God, I don’t want to die even though I have sinned.
Newspaper clippings will be me,
Just another girl from the southwest.
My pomegranate blood,
My decadent jaw,
my love for Marilyn,
my fear of flying,
the way I kiss my cat,
Won’t be broadcast, will it?
I will become nothing,
Dust and memory.
And just because I played like Pinocchio
And I had his fun,
I am getting punished by God in this way because he can’t turn me into a donkey.
My body is aching all the time,
I feel death coming closer,
And I know you know it’s because of what I did.
I will think about the third and final plaster tomorrow.
After all, it was just a vaccination and requires no results.
When you take me into that room
And tell me of my destination,
My heart will beg, my eyes will offer gold,
And my palms will never be so familiar with each other.
And if I am lucky, my life may become a cinematic encore.