Tonight's Poet Corner: Um

Um
by Belinda Roddie

When I drew from the vein just right,
the blood that came out was green,
not red, enough to scare a child from
bed with the hue - enough to worry a mother
from her pot of stew, with chunks of decaying
memories serving as the lumps of sorry pork.
I stored a sample of my life in a swan-necked
vial, with simply the word "um" inscribed
on the masking tape label, right next to
"er" and "uh" and "what" that smoked
purple, steamed blue, and whispered white
in their own personal bathing places.

I cannot - will not - explain the
method to my science, because it is
not science, nor is it sorcery,
but pure, never watered down
self; stirred in a pewter cauldron,
brewed with chili powder, and served
garnished with a warning to those more
daring to try to understand me or the
matter constructed in my bones and
turning my marrow a bright,
anemic orange.