by Dorsía Smith Silva
At first, it begins so simple.
The pain itself is nothing,
something you control, by default.
You recognize the strange violence,
as it drifts through the pelvis
and lands in the vulva.
Now the burning turns course,
assailing the inner and outer chords of the legs.
At the ledge, you purge yourself,
giving back a two-inch parallel of flesh.
Such a tiny figure,
having no name to speak of,
camouflaging the repeated starving
of all of your longing.
You understand, it will never be the same again.
Like a drawn-out broken signature,
the healing will be disfigured
and will bind you in the context of memory.
Dorsía Smith Silva is a Full Professor of English at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras and her poems have been published in Aji Magazine, Gravel, MORIA Literary Magazine, Snapdragon: A Journal of Art and Healing, Edison Literary Review, Apple Valley Review, Bright Sleep Magazine, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, The B’K, WINK, Poetry Quarterly, POUI: Cave Hill Journal of Creative Writing, Adanna, Rigorous, Shot Glass Journal, Tonguas, and the book Mothers and Daughters.