smiling sits in my neck again
pulling growing every time i
swallow i see it red and pulpy
as a spleen solemn in the smog
of anesthesia i hear the word
haldol and hope for a blurring
the stitches hidden my skin in
—stead glued bruised yellow to
my sternum doesn't hurt i say
to my reflection bent over in
the mirror throat sore frosted
over sleepy and famished my
smile dreams of consumption
grabbing gripping gulping my
stomach seeping dissolving i
can't let it see me cry can't let
it win my reflection bent over
neck smiling pulling growing
every time i swallow i bleed
Laura S. Marshall (she/they) is a poet, educator, and former linguist who lives outside Albany, NY. Their work appears in South Dakota Review, Bennington Review, The Dodge, trampset, juked, Okay Donkey, Lunch Ticket, and elsewhere. She received an MFA in poetry from UMass Amherst, and has served as a special features editor for jubilat.