I had a careful doctor.
He knew everything
about medicine. I knew
everything about my body.

"Here is the scalpel," he said,
"Only you can make the delicate
incision that will open
your encapsulated sickness."

So I took it. I waited
with a shaking whiteness in my chest.
The wholeness of my skin
was the world's only protection.

I made my incision,
which was brutally deep. I had not known
that even my elbows would be inside of me.
It was 3 A.M. on a Thursday night

and the sickness was grey and soft.
I touched it gently with my hands,
and looked up through red eyelashes
at the empty waiting room.


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