Foreign Body Reaction
When I was in my 20s, I fainted onto the pavement
and split my chin to the bone.
Despite thorough irrigation, the nurses’ best efforts,
the wound wasn’t clean.
Tiny mineral fragments remained.
Though the skin would be peaceful for months at a time,
the pain would suddenly begin anew.
Quiet tissue would inflame and ooze, swelling until breaking,
evicting the culprit at last:
a single grain of gravel.
Each instance would surprise me- days of burning, immunities roaring,
my attention stolen by another impossible fleck
almost too small to be seen.
Now, at 40, I have learned
this is the pattern of every great loss:
pain dormant and forgotten
for years at a time,
until a shard abruptly erupts,
ripping open peaceful skin,
bleeding itself to freedom.
Basal Cell Prayer
I did not choose you, my body,
but I am obliged to love you-
ever-blurring eyes,
ever-bleeding womb,
ever-burning throat,
that will only ever be mine.
With each second I spend in sunlight, warming these too-long bones,
you transform the day’s gifts into dangers, cystic and malignant.
I call you beautiful, still.
You are beautiful
my first and final reminder
that loving, and loving, and loving,
is divine imperative:
a promise that I will only live until I die.
Lore Justine sees poetry as a powerful antidote to the many hours she spends feigning composure in corporate America. Not emotionally intelligent by nature, she loves how carefully chosen words can process feelings and share lived experiences. This is Lore’s first publication in The Marbled Sigh. Her work in this edition explores living with a genetic disorder- practicing gratitude and joy even when the physical body struggles. Lore lives with her spouse (Alex) and dogs (Junebug and Marcline) in Chicago (the greatest city in the world).
