I Saved All My Digits For This?

she wouldn’t have it; peeling off flakes of fingernail
so they would not land in the dough,
nor would she bleed into the soup,
nor would she squat to give birth in his forest, again

so lost, so horribly, inextricably, lost
where the only reality was pain
of any kind she gave herself

love, abandonment, rejection

ah, yes, those she knew by heartache
and she had scrawled them on stone and bone

carved through to them, like dull knife to meat
to get to marrow meanings of things

to make such gravy
as would make mashed potatoes fit
for Queens or Kings, or little princesses or princes

but they were vegetarians
and her bloody thoughts meant so little to so few



there was a lady who found a finger in her chili,
but ‘twas a joke, a hoax  --  but the thought was there



say you found my ring finger somewhere it should not be ~
would you notice, would they, or would they gnaw
until they cracked and slurped at the core cream



once, my father tried to twist a tight ring off my finger,
with a pair of pliers but he had to leave early
and all the screaming I did brought no one to my aide

I almost lost that ring finger – too bad,
could have saved myself a great deal of grief
if I could have buried it early and not have had to worry
about any other losses, but no, I went caterwauling
across the road to get someone to save that digit
for later worries and woundings