Plague

by jesssouthwood

I made a hole
Or at least tried to
Pushed a pin
In
Tried to pierce skin
I was nine.
I bartered with my mother
A clean room for a clean wound
A shiny ball, a sterilised silver stud
The issue of her womb grown
Decorated.

I made me whole
Or at least tried to
Hung gold
From
Old holes, lobes
I am fine.
I bartered with my conscience
A full hole for an empty pocket
A shiny plague, a burnished locust earring
The issue of my womb gone
Yet I am decorated.