She says it’s blue before the oxygen,
but I already know. I’ve been inside,
drowning in the dirty water, rusting away
until any pair of hands could break me.
I’ve got lungs, just the same as anyone,
and a heart. I know which way the rabbit runs.
I sharpen my teeth against its skin.
The flesh is here for the mortification.
To feel it is to know, to taste it is to be,
and when the wounds scab over and close
we find a way to open them again, to live.

11/01/2011

Author's Note: Me: My goal in life is to write a poem without the word blood in it. Him: You should write a poem about blood without the word blood in it. Me: That actually could work...

Posted on 11/01/2011
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair