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Circulation

by Sandra Meek

  • Longing
  • extinguished the view, backlit
  • the body, that trapeze
  • of scars. Mother a sweet diffusion
  • down the pre-dawn hall. White bird.
  • Nurse’s cap folded
  • to papery wings.
  • I almost believed
  • in the wound erased, white towels
  • cradled in heat, the tweezers’ slender
  • silver wands. The leech she whispered
  • to the reattached ear’s
  • fresh seam, health
  • a side effect of hunger, saliva
  • undamming the blood gifted
  • with oxygen. Saturated, its work
  • done, she plucked, flushed
  • the fat black stitch to the darkened arteries
  • rooting the city, flesh
  • of my flesh, then nothing but spin.


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