Checking in -

I wrote this poem quickly before I left for my check-in visit with the
surgeon,  which went well. She is a doll, if anyone is looking for
a wonderful, warm, proficient surgeon.  I highly recommend
her.  Then, I met with my Rilke group where Daniel guided us
through the masculine, spiritual writing of Emerson, and the more
feminine, soulful Rilke.  Quite a treat!   Here is my
morning poem.  

letting go

 

who would think there would be an attachment to
pubic hair

that soft,
fluffy triangle protecting what is vulnerable

like the
hair on our head -

with no
hair, I feel the sensitivity of my occipital ridge,

my
lobes,

the parts
of my brain,

and now,
that triangle I appreciated since it came,

my symbol
of womanhood,

like grass
on the hills,

leading to
the ocean,

is
gone

and I look
like a child -

a female
child -

I find it
shocking somehow -

tears come
-

it is
visible proof that something is going on

as much as
I try to imagine

that all is
well

there is
this dropping of hair

in such a
sensitive place

saying here
is female

exposed -

she is
raw

please care
-