I can’t stop thinking of the least likely cause of the bleeding.
I can’t stop hearing the music of hunger in my head.
I can’t stop seeing riddles in all of the facts.
And in my mouth, the taste of iron, repeating.
I run my hands through my hair –
remember when I cut it all off?
Remember when slowly I let it grow again?
I noticed the gradual return of strangers’ kindness.
A woman’s hair always has an audience.
I can’t stop smelling antiseptic, gauze, instruments.
There are chemicals they can inject just under the skin
to make your expressions go away.