The Dark Spots

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.

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