Poem by Michelle Whitchurch
Ed. Gabby Gabby, 2013
……….
my handsareblisteringand drying and cracking
because my heart is not sturdy enough
to endure prolonged existanceinhumanform
iamn very sstressedand worriedand upset
this is why this is happeninganurse on a 1-800 number tellsme
i can rip my skin offin large piecesandleave the underneath exposed
bloody and pinkandrawlike aninfant slick with blood
betweenthe thumb andpointer fingers
the spot that makesan’L’
theplace imakeinto a gunwhen imimic
killingmyself to hheathertomake her giggle when the dayishard
the place your hand grips when we run through the metro platforms
and broode because we can
it is likemothers skin myskin
after the chemo after themasectomys after the radition
my mothers skincracks
icanlickmyfingerand touch the skin
and it comes off in bigpieces
thedoctor at the famous hospital has never seen it before
drying her skin after she showers is difficult
taking care of a sick woman is difficult
i slept on the floor of her bedroom
to listen to herbreath and wake her when it stutters and trembles
like i my voice inaconfrontation
mothers skin rubs off becuzaof her sweater while at mothersmothers house
mothers sweater becomes wetwith blood and something gummy and clearish
mothermothers cries
mother takesoff her sweater to show the wound
mothersmother takes off her sweater to show the healed woulnd only onemasectomy
mothers chest looks concaved mothersmothers chest looksconcaved
i don’t know why they are concaved idon’t think breasts have roots sodeep but maybe cancersdo
mother and mothersmother look at me
mothersmother reminds us that mothersfather used to murmur to me that i was ‘born to suffer’
mothersmother says she finally understands that
this legacy of pain dysmorpia sadness despondancy cancer
“no, it started long before that- it started before women- before my body”
fathersstepmother says “i wish you had some of me in you, just so you had a chance”
everyones face islet withtears all of the matronsof my family
even natalies faceis wet
my faceisnt
mother gets better i sleep inmy own bed not the floor
later i sleep on the floor out of poverty and my hands crack
my hands areaging faster than the restofmy body
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