Endometriosis

I. In the mirror there are two bruises. Line them up. They form a crooked black heart; an evil twin valentine folded in half. That is only the surface, though. Press my body through the x-ray machine and you can find the caged cherry pit inside. Biting into me, not expecting the seed, well, that is just a fool’s kind of dangerous. Watch out, I could crack your milk teeth. I could cause every single one of your meat teeth to fall out of your mouth.

II. I spit summer watermelon seeds onto the pavement. They sizzle when they first hit the ground. I try to make a perfect circle. If I do, I will pray to superstition that your power will go out. All I want is to make a dark para- dise for you. Where the sun stays set forever and the moon is always full.

III. A woman scrapes my insides with cold metal and then presses her palms to my abdomen. With mirrors and magic she sees all of the tis- sue that grows over my other organs, covering them like a protective fur. Only she can give a diagnosis to a disease. Now, pills in a bottle to maybe make me feel better, slow the wilderness in my abdomen. But, I like the idea of a black bear hide uterus, a fox pelt intestinal tract. I spit the pills into a circle on my bathroom floor and then curl up into a ball when the stabbing starts. Hook through an eye. The relentless handiwork of pain.