The only thing is her face, the dying
capillaries, the now almost permanent
flush and fever she lives in, her skin
chipping away like old paint on old boards.
She says the blotch at her throat,
raised like a welt, blooming like a bruise,
would suffice for all her suffering,
if she could have back her unfurrowed
brow, her pinkie lips, her beauty mark.
She’s considered a veil, a yashmak
flowing to her pretty feet. She’s ashamed
to want to hide, finding her vanity
wedged in every crevice of her life, always
calling, A disease is what you really are.
Jared Pearce’s collection, The Annotated Murder of One, was released by Aubade last year (www.aubadepublishing.com/annotated-murder-of-one). His poems have recently been or will soon be shared in The Coachella Review, Xavier Review, Canyon Voices, Breadcrumbs, and BlazeVOX. Further: https://jaredpearcepoetry.weebly.com