There’s the tension I’m feeling when I’m anxious and the tension I feel when I have to puncture.I’ve always wanted to stab myself dead but at this point I’m used to the maintenance my body needs—I have the routine made like muscle memory. I’m going to live forever taking care of myself,I’m going to have to respect my body or die. Before medicalization there’s tension in the lacking,and I do so want to task myself with a further need to care for myself like I care for others.Offer me a kindness I’m quick to give away. There’s the tension of falling into the arms of anesthesiaand how I have forgotten again to prepare to be caught; the first incision that splays me open.I don’t always tell the truth, but what…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, September/October 2021