Porphyria

Porphyria

for Elizabeth Kerper

Nightfall,
on her hand-me-down sofa,
trying to forget
another day
full of close calls,
her remote control spurred
a channel surfing trance,
until she came across
a gritty car wreck,
watched traffic slow down,
while some woman
bled in the street.

By silent,
unseen command,
blood dropped
onto her blouse.
She wiped
her nose to find
herself bleeding,
thinking it was cool at first—
like tasting someone else's life,
then realizing it's more like a beaten boxer
losing rosy rivers of pride,
running like water down her face.
Scatterbrained,
to herself she thought,
Oh shit, I'm gonna faint,
briefly before falling
off her couch,
into what seemed rush hour traffic,
into the front end of a car.

And soon it became a dream
she misplaced but knew she missed.
She woke wishing she remembered
the blood that bled her to sleep.