At twenty-five
ripe for reproduction
I had my uterus and cervix removed.
They were collateral damage;
it was the stretch marks
I was trying to get rid of.
Tears, the color of my labia
on my breasts, belly, hips,
and thighs. Spread wide by my desire
to be loved, to love, the unloved.
I don’t remember
where I got the idea
to have my tummy tucked.
To remove what I saw as the ripping
wounds that ruined me. All I wanted
was my barren body back.
The surgeon cut me open, peeled
my belly astern, like the carcass
of a young doe, my uterus cut free
cast off as waste. My life to give life
Changed.
Marked measured and cut
my organ skin snipped away
belly button sewn on like an appliqué.
Metal staple stitches draw a jagged zipper smile,
-glaring- from hip bone to hip bone
the new scarred me is born.
I hope this isn’t condescending, but when I read your poetry I just want to quietly hug you. Is that wrong?
That’s beautiful CC. Deeply affirming actually. Thank you.
I kept reading ‘Tears’ as tears from the eye. unnerved me, I must admit, til I read it right. Choices, as they say, make you what you are, some are incredibly proud of their jagged edges, their toothless smiles. I like you more for loving the unloved and your ability to say ‘thighs spread wide’ without ever saying it. Beautiful piece of writing.
Connected slighlty: A friend of mine wants to put a zip in her ‘post birthing pouch’. She thinks that at least then it would be useful. She reckons there’d be room for cake as well as her purse and phone.
Smile as per your friend. And thank you Carl.
Where is the artwork from? It’s fantastic!
Ya, I really like it. Very provocative. I snatched it from goggle images. Found is by searching the title of this piece.
Whew! Intense.
Thanks for commenting. I know that it takes courage for the reader/witness, when the material is so heavy.