I can’t stop thinking of the least likely cause of the bleeding.

I can’t stop hearing the music of hunger in my head.

I can’t stop seeing riddles in all of the facts.

And in my mouth, the taste of iron, repeating.

I run my hands through my hair –
remember when I cut it all off?

Remember when slowly I let it grow again?

I noticed the gradual return of strangers’ kindness.
A woman’s hair always has an audience.

I can’t stop smelling antiseptic, gauze, instruments.

There are chemicals they can inject just under the skin
to make your expressions go away.