the plaster came off
Written by
Joanna Brown
November 2014
Written by
Joanna Brown
November 2014

the plaster came off. saw

the crude stitching, holding

the wound together. not quite myself,

numb across the join, where skin

and flesh meet wire. the weaving of

an unknown man's hand,

same man who scrawled his signature

on the slip: 'should not attend work for 2 WEEKS. reason:

surgery', his artwork. i was scolded

at school for my messy sewing,

for scowling at cross-stitch, as an

endless imposition on my clumsy fingers,

my stitches no neater than my handwriting. i

despise the tyranny of neat, and now

messiness holds my thigh together, sealing

the void left by my tumour. stitches, signatures,

scrawl - means to a messy end.

Let's be friends

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