Becoming
A poem about healing
I practically inhaled my lunch:
a Publix cream cheese roll
with cucumber and imitation
crab—my customary treat
for enduring the world,
the errand, obtaining
the little white pills,
the little white pills
to endure the world,
to obtain more pills
to endure the world. I’m filing away another layer
of the fracture line, now risen
to the tip of my left thumbnail.
I’ve been documenting it for months,
the steady climb, etched
in keratin script— What do you call the shape of the space
where a scar used to be? I ask because this is the first space
I’ve witnessed becoming something
since I stopped tearing myself apart, gnawing,
ripping away
imperfections,until there was nothing.
∞
