The Kind Knife
Just when you think your skin is getting safe,
there’s a new freckle numbing you and some guy
named Dr. Coldiron says you need to cut it off,
repeating melanoma with a hush usually
reserved for poetry readings. He didn’t even
try to reason with it first, jumped right for
the scalpel. I guess when you’re a dermatologist
skin is your poetry and you start to know
when something is good enough to keep
or when it needs to give itself to the chopping
block. When he notched it out, the sudden
something missing hurt, but I don’t care.
I like to think of myself as an acolyte of Kali.
If Dr. Coldiron told her there was a pit of cancer
boring into her left breast, I know she’d just
waggle her crazy tongue, flail the severed
head of an anonymous man, and slam down
the crescent of her blade. Some cuts heal.