The Undue Acidity in Your Veins

 

The doctor tells us that I need
to learn how to cut into
my own skin

“If she can’t do it now,
she won’t be able to do it
when she has to.” He says
to you and not to me.

He hands you the scalpel
and you place it in my hands
and you look me in the eyes
and you don’t need to say
anything. So I place the tip

just above my kneecap, don’t press
down, make a phantom cut up my thigh
in the same exact way you like to run
a fingertip up my skin
under my skirt
under the table
when you think no one is watching
my face.

The doctor says “Press”
and his voice is exclamations,
“Make her press”
and you hold your hand above my hand
you press into me and I press
into my skin
until the blade brings blood
and my throat thrashes out a howl

and the doctor says “good, good,
reward her,” and so you get on knees
lick the blood from my skin,
until the wound closes.


Chloe N. Clark’s work appears in Booth, Drunken Boat, Gamut, Hobart, a previous issue of Split Lip Magazine, and more. She writes for Nerds of a Feather and Ploughshares, teaches college comp, and tweets about food and monsters @PintsNCupcakes.

 
poetry, 2017SLMChloe N. Clark