Mother’s nature.

I’d pull off my foot, along with my shoe

I’d nurse at my thumb

and bore my tooth through

then I’d pull out my teeth so I’d no longer eat

the words that barb at my tongue

I’d rip at my arm

at my leg

at my ear

at my eye

and thank Nature she made me in twos

Because I’d strip the stock from my bones

to help the lice crawl away

before they replenish their eggs

where their encasements now lay

and see the doctors repair me with glue

As I contracted they crawled through my womb and my hips

-now prised, emptied and torn-

and I fear they have travelled down with the cord

to the bellies and buttons

of those I have born

and sometimes I think

with a clock of my eye

when my scabs crack away

and my lice nip and writhe

I see my boughs pick their bark too

Author note - The fear of passing on my compulsions to my children is always one which lingers in the back of my mind, but like so many things it’s much easier to dress it up as a trivial, silly concern. This is what I have tried to mimic in the fast pace rhythm of this poem, purposefully omitting punctuation in order to create speed and highlight the continuous background buzzing of my thoughts.