Count the Rings (of my body)
Nichole Pientka
I.
Used to think I had old feet
Pruned after steaming shower, blue ridges
Standing at attention, rooting my Mangrove tree balance
II.
My mother’s veins
Tangling purple bundles on
My calves I got from Dad and kicking muddy soccer balls
III.
Enflamed joints creaking: knees, hips, shoulders, elbows,
Fingers numb in frozen weather claim Dad’s arthritis
And Mom’s bad circulation
IV.
Teardrop scar on my right forearm
From fidgeting while nurse shot weak measles
Under my four-year-old flesh never marked
V.
Except central line punctured my premature infant chest
Resulting in bullet-sized hole in right breast
Reminder of my ugly fight for life
VI.
Now my skin laden with albino cheetah spots
Bleached and raised in sunlight among freckles
Each dot a sign of innocence left?
VII.
Short limbs toned by religious exercise
Long fingers, chipped turquoise nails, comb highlighted strands
Too many curves to be worshipped by fashion bibles
VIII.
Brush my brain with bright blooms left and right
With darkness creeping from coup contra-coup concussions
Brain-stemming into bent spine
IX.
Count twenty-one rings under my small gray-blue eyes
In a misted mirror, blurred behind dense leaves of doubt
And branching questions…