VICTORIA CLAYTON MUNN
MISSING
A part of me is missing
I’m not sure what it is
I feel my legs and arms -
torso, hairy, butt flexing
Fingers run over stubble
Trace lips scaled and white
Take a dip in nostril one
Go fishing in nostril two
Rub my eyes, feel the squish
An errant eyelash stings
Index finger feels brows
Knit together into a line
Hair is greasy, needs a wash
It’s all of me, but not really
I turn to the side, cheek loving
The white linen crisp and cold
A blanket settled over my body
Reach to the left, warmth pulls me
She is still there - I nestle against
The silken skin, curves, soft
Her body fits mine, over me
Now, nothing’s missing at all.
SOUNDS IN A WAITING ROOM
A mother groans, shifts in her chair
Moves her arms across her chest
Protects her body from further invasion
While the man across the way coughs -
The rough rattle brings a harsh glance
From an elderly patient who’s perched kitty corner
Knitting a gnarled ribbon of beige
A parade of women, white clad
Click plastic, paper and metal together
As they shuffle their workday dance
Down the hall of the clinic -
The doctor sits in his office, and
Helps add a wail to the sounds
As he tells his next customer
Their latest test results