amenorrhea, or, self portrait with space heater

my child my      child just hold 
still in there       we pour ourselves into a turnstile
of milk we just               missed it but we keep
missing more    eating chicken 
pushing shit      going on
there are           scarabs out there 
from forever      ago
that did what     we do
and got holy      for it
my child I will                 thank fucking god
never     youíll never want
for melon you canít eat                have to run
kid thereís a rank           hospital mattress
where my father-skull                  lies
Iím glad youíll                 never grow
from anything    that happens on mine
get tore out       with these jeans
deep in my        sharpened hips deep
in the ash theyíve           turned 
itís come to        youíll never 
have to learn     about 
pronouns, men,              or sunsets all
thin and orange              as knives my people 
my people slaughter       some people,
straddle on        balance beams,
slit their wrists                 between 
checks               drive gas trucks            stink 
of smoke           & fear                o holy holy
Iím glad leaves               will never grow
over                   your window


Nina Puroís work is forthcoming or recently appeared in Guernica, H_NGM_N, the PEN American Poetry Series, and others.  She is a member of the Belladonna* Collaborative and the author of a chapbook, Two Truths and a Lie (dancing girl press, 2015). She lives and works in Brooklyn.