Hell's Skin II
by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen — Read all 1,670 poems by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
The weekend finally ends,
she sends her kids off
to catch the school bus
passing their position on her way
to the clinic, blowing them kisses
then reaching to scratch her neck.
"Come to Urgent Care", she is told,
we have to isolate you." Okay, fine,
she is isolated, waiting, sitting and
checking out the new patterning
crawling down her calves, down her
forearms onto her hands, "even a few
on the fingers now", she thinks,
reaching to scratch her neck again,
and gentley touch her face. She has seen
the three small bumps between her eyes,
eclipsed by the three moony vesicles
lined up and down off the corner of her mouth.
Same P.A. that saw her 4 days ago agrees,
it is getting worse. We need a second opinion,
though, and she goes and gets a doctor.
Baffled, how could it be chickenpox if her
kids had it, hmmm, draw some blood, check for pox,
3-4 days to wait for results, can't do
anything for her, go home, come back in
a few days. The itching follows the growth,
which winds back on itself. Each rashy bump
cries out for relief from the itch,
she doesn't mind touching them now,
quick spurts of rabid scratching,
then run for the Calamine lotion,
which seems to be working less and less.
This morning, the forearm bumps are ballooning,
the shins are dappled with dots of varying sizes,
they've reached her feet, no where else to go..
Looking in the mirror, a frequent rite
these last few days, she thinks, she sees
or believes she sees, a slight fading,
a tiny bit of clearing on her chest,
"oh please, let them be going away",
she thinks, as she feels the large bumps
behind her ears, in her hairline, as she
looks over her legs, knowing they have to
go through the popping and itching, but,
it may be running it's course, she reaches
to scratch her neck, running fingernails
gentley across the rash, and feels a bit
of estacy in the scratching.
Erin Moen
10/15/02
Monday, November 4, 2002
Seems like so long ago now, 2 weeks...
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