The Progesterone Years

In Chicago I have become
impatient with blood, lost
touch with the rise
and flow, the fickle hormone
eruptions that drain us.

I have bled on men
before, but this withdrawal
is a different kind.

In Pittsburgh my blank inside
spaces emptied nightly
on our bed. After
it was over, I soaked the sheets
until the threads broke
down and all the dye ran out.

Here I have found new ways
to harden myself—wheels
on roads, cycles weaving
fibers through my body,
a kind of freedom that leaves
black ribbons on white walls.

My steel frame is heavy
at night. An accident left bruises
on my bones that formed
knots under my skin. Kneading
does not loosen them.

Sometimes after fucking
my cold fingers
return to these places.