Kathryn Merwin

Menorrhagia

Today my bloodslicks are blue and thirsty.
Spools of coagulate; a tessellation
on the tile floor. Hot sweep
of cayenne. Stippling pink
on the baseboard. Can’t be stopped,
this always-loss. Watercolor
my vitals—moss phlox and wild plum
from somewhere inside. Add a little water.
Pulp me like Pollock. This is my body’s work.
What must it look like,
that capsized submarine, that cratered
planet hinged between hips? At least
no one’s on board. At least
this leak is slow. No tourniquet
to starve this vessel. No hatch to turn,
step out of skin. Paint a little more.
Nothing’s mine to keep,
not even this. Pour a little more.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Kathryn Merwin is a writer from Maryland. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Puerto del Sol, Hobart, Passages North and The Journal, among others. She has read and/or reviewed for the Bellingham Review, WomenArts Quarterly and the Adroit Journal and received her MFA in poetry from Western Washington University. Her first collection, Womanskin, is available from CutBank Chapbooks.