A new poem by Lily Wright.

I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT

I BRUSH MY TEETH TOO-HARD AND A TRICKLE OF BLOOD COMES OUT INTO THE
SEAM OF MY INCISORS. I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I NOTICE THE KNOBS OF A DANCERS SPINE AS THEY WEAVE AROUND THE STAGE,
THE FLAT-DEHYDRATED-DEFINITION OF THEIR ABDOMINALS, AND I DON’T THINK
ABOUT IT.
/
I TURN TWENTY-FOUR THIS YEAR AND I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I WATCH AS THE WIND BUFFETS THE WASHING ON THE LINE, GREEN-CARDIGANS
AND WHITE-SHIRTS, LIKE A FIELD DOTTED WITH BABY’S BREATH, AND I DON’T
THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I WALK THE DOG, AND SHE SHITS TWICE. I PICK UP THE FIRST BUT LEAVE THE
SECOND ON THE PRICKLY SUMMER-SHOCKED-BURN. I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I’M LATE FOR DINNER AND I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I SEE THE LINES OF INK IN MY ARMS,TURNING INTO BLUE-GREY AND FADING,
BLEEDING OUT AROUND THE EDGES. ITS A PERMANENT REMINDER BUT I DON’T
THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I TEXT WHILE DRIVING AND I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I WATCH THE NEWS, FILLED WITH HORROR AND TERROR AND SOMETHING LIKE
SHAME, AND I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I MASTERBATE WITHOUT BRINGING MYSELF TO COMPLETION AND I DON’T THINK
ABOUT IT.
/
I THIEVE TIME AT WORK BY SITTING THERE DEAD-EYED AND NOT THINKING ABOUT
IT.
/
I ARGUE WITH MY FATHER ON THE TRUE NUMERICAL VALUE OF A BILLION– A
MILLION-MILLION OR ONLY A THOUSAND-MILLION, AND I CAN’T WRAP MY HEAD
AROUND EITHER AMOUNT, THE SHEER SIZE OVERWHELMING TO ME; BUT THE
DIFFERENTIATION CRUCIAL TO MY SENSE OF SELF. I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I GO INTO A CHURCH, NOT TO PRAY, JUST TO SMELL THAT
OLD-WOOD-FUTILE-HOPE SCENT AND I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.
/
I ITCH AND ITCH AND ITCH HARD ENOUGH TO DRAW BLOOD, TINY SCABS
CATCHING IN MY ARM-HAIRS, THREE WEEKS AFTER MY SCABIES TREATMENT; TWO
TO FOUR WEEKS TO TAKE EFFECT; AND I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.
/
IT’S NOT LIKE ALL THIS IS MAKING IT GO AWAY.

/
IT SQUATS AT THE BACK OF MY MIND, ITS GROTESQUE BODY BENT AT THE KNEES,
BACK HUNCHED TO THE POINT OF PAIN, DROOLING ALL OVER ITS CHIN AND
MAKING A HOME IN THE CAVE-BLACK BLANKNESS OF MY BRAIN.
/
I’M NOT THINKING ABOUT IT, EVEN AS IT STARES AT ME.
/
I’M NOT– I’M NOT THINKING ABOUT IT, EVEN AS IT GETS CLOSER, CREEPING-SLOW
LIKE NOTHING HUMAN–
/
I’M NOT THINKING ABOUT IT, MY EYES ARE CLOSED AND MY EARS ARE BLOCKED–
/
I’M IN THE FOETAL POSITION IN MY OWN MIND, SHRINKING DOWN AND DOWN–
/
I’M NOT THINKING ABOUT IT– I’M NOT– I–
/

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