Notes from the Bloodwater

What you don’t know is

the wolves came when I was much too young

and sunk their teeth into the deep of me and left a hole.

The surgeries to repair the damage

have not yet gone far enough,

and so I carry this wreckage around inside

where I’ve hidden them

and stretched Kevlar over the scars.

Sometimes I strip it off

and break things in half

to produce a rough edge

and cut the stitching open again

to watch the blood flow

down the shower drain.

Sometimes I make suggestive

remarks to a near stranger

and show a little too much cleavage

while gazing intently at their mouth.

Male or female, it doesn’t matter,

it’s a heart I’m looking for,

since mine is near drained.

I have this counselor

who loves me, I think.

Or else she is just really good

at letting her eyes well up with tears

when I tell my stories.

She says to not stop wanting connection,

to not stop looking to God

for love,

to safe people, for love too.

But God, I fear, allows things

I am still struggling to understand.

And safe people, well,

most days I think it is safer

to love the oil slick street after rain.

Jesus, she once said to me,

understands being bloodless

and mangled and left with holes.

And he wasn’t even repulsed by a girl like me.

I haven’t told anyone yet

but I’m beginning to think maybe I could like a guy like that.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner