Autoimmune
By Sadell Costello
trigger happy t-cells
mistake the good guys for the bad guys
carrying myself like a weapon
a product of too many enemies
or an excess of victims
Stephon Clark was, as they say, gunned down
in his grandparents’ backyard
Syria’s children asphyxiated with sarin gas
when i open the news, Fox says:
“Woman’s Armless, Legless Body Found in NYC park”
pow pow pow
the assaults of the long exhalation of traffic
from the freeway i use as a walking path
biota from my cubicle colonize me
i eat plastic-wrapped wads of salt and fat prepared by others
even the men who love me need to be told to be gentle
all passive phrases on purposes
evil is amorphous
you can’t tell who’s behind the blood
more than one of the hydra’s heads looks like mine
the pagans say i am an excess of trapped heat
the doctors order drugs for breakfast and dinner
Fox says, “It was not immediately clear whether the woman was the victim of foul play”
meet your dreams slick with steroids
swipe, scroll, click
disappeared into a tiny room that extends forever
i fumble – stupid – with my time and responsibilities
my leukocytes are blurry eyed
but damn, man, they tried to shoot back
the cop, russia, whoever cuts off a woman’s limbs and leaves her in a park
drop bombs in damascus in the dark
of course they missed, but give them a break
i’m as see-through as glass
i shake my fist at first light towards the sky
they are fighters
forget my peacenik parents
and the psychology cultivated in the garden
this is warfare on the skin
take shelter
and dab with oatmeal
Sadell Costello writes and publishes under various pseudonyms. She can be reached at sadellcostello@gmail.com.
“Autoimmune” was previously published in Tuck Magazine.
Image credit: By Blausen Medical – BruceBlaus, medical gallery of Blausen Medical 2014.