Posted by Atticus on June 15, 2006, at 19:51:59
“That’s just
Self-mutilation,”
Angela tells me
As she pushes up the sleeve
Of her yellow hospital gown
To reveal a criss-crossing ladder
Of white scars left by
The passage of razors
Ascending the coffee-toned skin
Of her inner left forearm,
As casually as if
She had said, “Those are just
Mosquito bites.”That’s just
self-mutilation,
I think to myself
As I ponder the
Incomprehensible acts
That have placed her
In this psych ward beside me.
Not a big deal,
Her 20-year-old voice
Flatly informs me
In tone as well as word.It’s just
Self-mutilation,
My mind repeats
As I roll up my own gown’s sleeve
To reveal the sickly pinkish lines
Created by sutures
That snake
Like lightning bolts up
My left forearm,
Following the faint blue veins underneath
The scars.“This is
Self-destruction,”
I say, in voice low and whispery
Like fall leaves on the pavement
When they’re touched by
Early winter winds.
I want to tell her
Not to graduate from
Her form of disfigurement
To mine, but I know
She’ll only shrug and reply,
“That’s just self-mutilation,”
And gaze at me
With brown and baffled eyes.
poster:Atticus
thread:657379
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20060523/msgs/657379.html