The doctor asks, were you blue as death
or infancy? Metal on flame
and bearing it or mad, embracing it,
I say. Without praise.
The water where I swam as a child
tricked the heart. Pebbles
masqueraded as a shore, piled right
to where the crags muscled
like gods out of the waves. Can hunger
keep me alive? I say. No
he laughs. Assumptions. Who speaks
that way. Tell me,
are you Eve or Mary? A riddle cries
from my fingers that turn
blue from white, where arteries
refuse life. Assumptions,
I play, as if I understand him and his
tested theories. What’s the difference
between divinity and disgrace?
Sophia Galifianakis teaches at the University of Michigan, where she received her MFA in poetry. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Greensboro Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Spillway, and Mezzo Cammin.