By the time we met, I had only one bone
left in my body. Turtles can’t be removed
from their shells, but I had become
a gooey skin-woman and almost no one
noticed. Under an x-ray, I was mistaken
for an octopus. The doctor told me:
“Your heartbeat is your calendar.” I didn’t
want him to photograph my inside self;
instead, I had asked him to explain why
my hands had become too heavy to carry.
They were filled to the fingertips with electricity.
I tried to be light. I tried, very hard, to be light for you.