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.