serosanguineous drainage

erin healey | Fall 2021

She’s chewing one of those herbs you need to chew to heal
The glorious spit on the singing wound
Goblets of hurt spilled and wiped away
By sopping napkins to be whisked down the trash chute
At fancy parties held at country clubs
The leg is bad this time—he’s never seen anything like it before
Flesh is puckered and curling, blood and that sticky yellow liquid
Enveloping the whole of his calf 
The pain was slicing his head in half 
When he was a kid, he would get headaches so bad
The only way he would feel relief
Was to imagine cutting open a vein in his head 
And letting the pressure whoosh out 
But never anything like this 

She is not a doctor but 
Men have always been there to be taken care of
Sneaking into men’s laps, 
Smoothing their hair, perfumed and tossed
Kissing away their tears gentle as a mother
Men who needed to be looked after and 
Cleaned up and scheduled 
Something physical, however, is different
It is ugly and certainly no one smells good
Cries of pain loud and unpleasant
She feels like she wants to rip off her hair 
Two braids red down her back 

It feels too human to be caring for him
Yowling on the soft dirt ground
Spit veering out of his mouth

It was an animal or something
Fat and furry in the woods
Teeth thick and dripping with blood
Men really think they are invincible
They can go into the woods and face the beast
They can slay her, her body fallen numbly to the forest floor
How she wishes she could grab him by the arm before he went
Sink her nails into the soft flesh of his wrist
And tell him “no” 

Finally, the herb is mashed and gnawed and salivated on enough
She shoots the green mush on the wound
He hisses in relief, she tries to wipe the blood away
With the torn end of her dress wet with canteen water 
Later her wool sweater will be sacrificed for the bandage
But now, in the woods, with the boy and the bloody leg
She keeps it on