Little Pink
Little pink stars,
Like the ones in the song
Based on a poem about
Little pink stars
That I never read,
Or not stars but
dots
Have appeared, unexpectantly
On my body, mostly my legs
But on my butt and back too
And it's not the chicken pox,
Not like my parents feared,
Me never having them before
And they being dangerous,
But no one knows what they
Are, so tests,
Piss in a cup try not to get
Any on your fingers
And I can't watch my blood
Fill that glass vial,
But they haven't called back yet.
And I half dismiss it as nothing
But the other half is very scared
What if there's something terribly wrong?
And they don't itch, or spread or
Get bigger, they just stay,
I don't want them to stay
They seem like a bad sign
Like my musings about the possibility
That I don't want children
Might be real after all, and I'll never know
Anyone else who can find constellations
In the freckles on their arms,
Or maybe I'll get cancer and die
Like everyone else in this family.
And I just wish they were
Little pink stars
And not marks upon my body
Which might be the manifest of
My darkest dreams
About how life is going to be.
-srw
-8/98
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