by Kelly Jones
A few years ago a machine peaked into my head
and found a section dead.
Most likely from a lack of oxygen in utero,
but really, that’s speculation – what’s done is done
and there’s no undoing it. Like when I was eighteen and
someone pilfered the contents of my lingerie drawer.
They took it all: the see-through, the satin,
the blood-spotted cotton panties and all the socks and bras.
It creeped me out, but I cared less about how it all went missing
and worried more just about their being gone.