“Sounds amazing,” she says, my blood still flowing
up the tube, new one now as I’d filled up the first.
Where will they send my blood, and how
do they test for all the things they test for,
and what if they discover I have one
of a million diseases one could have, something
to confine me to bed for as many days, weekends
as I have left on this earth, or what if they find
nothing? Will I start to take pictures of my food
like a friend of mine does? He takes pictures
of what he’s about to eat so he’ll remember
what he put in his body, so if something goes
wrong he’ll know it was the yellowtail swimming
in lime sauce or the ginger sorbet with one proud
blackberry perched on top. He keeps files of photos
so he’ll never forget what he tasted, what filled him.
I want to taste the blood being drawn from my arm,
wonder if it would taste the same as my mother’s.
“What did you do this weekend,” she asks
forgetting she already asked. I had an ice cream cone,
I tell her, took a picture of it before it started to melt,
licked a drop of blood still warm from a new cut,
read a letter to my mother at her grave.
Kim Dower: “I always feel sub-par when answering the inevitable question, ‘How was your weekend?’ Somehow, cleaning out a closet or finally watching the last season of The Wire seems like a letdown. I wish I could say, ‘I had lunch in Paris on Saturday and made it home in time for a hot air balloon ride over the ocean on Sunday. I’m tired, but invigorated. Thanks for asking!’” (web)
Kim Dower was the guest on this week’s episode of the Rattlecast. Click to watch!