“X” Marks the Spot by Erica Sternin

marks the spot

marks the spot

For fifty-four years
I’ve maintained residence
In this, my meat body. Flank and rump,
I thought I knew her – that this was “me.”

An intruder! Bring in the Big Guns:
We “treated” the bad parts,
Poisoned and trapped the bad guys.
I wanted to get out of the way,
But I was pinioned, weakly struggling
Against the needles. “You”
Remain throughout treatment.
Biopsied. A medical specimen.

Wit and whimsy, dogged authenticity –
SHE was not the object of Healing,
(officially, at any rate).
SHE fluttered beside her sacrificed carcass
Waiting for it to awaken.
And now I hardly know this place – although it is as familiar
As a dream house.

These burnt, withered, twisted, missing parts…
When will the pillows be plump, and my sheets inviting?
I make my way slowly through the rooms
With my invisible treasure map
Looking for secret closets and cupboards,
The blanket forts of my soul.


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