Melanie Maier Poetry - Book Excerpts

I curl into the soft fur of a cheetah
with my mother's eyes. She cleans me
with her coarse tongue, then I
dance with Elijah and ask why
it has taken him so long to come.

They wheel me to surgery
and the doctor takes my colon.
Consciousness: voices and brightness
surround me. I see vague shapes,
hanging tubes, mother,

who gently pulls my toes,
her eyes soften:
slowly I move one finger
across her flushed cheek,
as if to brush away a lash.