Precious

Kira Tucker

Copper keeps life from my womb; aluminum  fills my pores, silver my teeth. My blood won’t hold iron, so I take it daily. Food brings a sickness I can’t measure under my tongue, only on my waning waist. Some metal belongs in the body. The day a grate raised my skirt on the street, I noticed only one rush of air between ore and whore. The boy who learns to caress his face with a blade will grow into a man I’ll pay to slice my skin with steel. Beauty is no alchemy: it merely means making space for more things that shine. Like the ancient statues men scrapped for daggers. Like powder packed into bullets, their touch so intimateit kills. Like any body in this millennium, I’ll survive in silicon chips after death. Until then, lead me somewhere precious. Guide me with ungloved hands.