paper robes

undress down
to your bra & underwear
she says & hands me
a paper robe 

it ties in the back 

it reminds me of a crumpled
page of sketch paper

the waste basket full
by my desk in 10th grade
when sometimes
i would bend over
& vomit wrinkled 
notebook pages--

several attempts to draw
a face-- 
the reference lines 

i don't have 
any bras anymore 

the last one i had
was off white from
being worn so much 

i stopped undoing the
clasps-- just pulled
the contraption
over my head--

how many girls have 
dressed down 
into paper robs?

sat on the end
of an examining table

grew sandpaper skin 
& waited for their doctor

i was thinking
about how in a few minutes 
after i'm done
they'd throw out
the garment

& maybe somewhere
in a landfill 

all the paper robes
would congregate &
tell stories of our bodies--

ghosts-- 

waiting for a loud 
gust of wind 
to fill them with
flesh again--

do some lay back
between disposed needles
& wax paper?

making angles in
the debris--

each needle
left halos under our skin

the paper dolls
holding hands in a circle
& playing ring around
the rosary--

how old were you when
someone told you that
it's about dying
& the plague?

my doctor touched
me over top 
the rough texture dress--

felt my stomach--
my lungs making hot air balloons--

they're rare &
i haven't seen one in years
but she gets to see
them everyday

i tell her about
the bond fired i swallowed 

about the light switch
in my chest i flicked 
& became a man

she takes out my ovaries
like white eggs 
in a carton at
the grocery store

when we're all done 

i sat alone in the 
pediatrician's exam room

a black & white 
photograph of
a plane taking off stared
at me on the wall 

was it driven by 
paper doll ghosts?

coming to collect me?

i left the garment 
on top of 
the doctor's wax paper
altar--

put my clothing back
on & saw the dress
breathing on it's own

beckoning me back inside 

i shut the door

somewhere today 
it sulks

it sulks-- 

remembers my skin 

i draw the neck
the shoulders--

disproportionate bones

will i ever be easier
to draw or will i always
tuck my knees into me chest--

hide your hands

or crumple them--

someday i'll do 
to a great big landfil &
stand at the edge 

i won't have to search for long

the garments
faces pressed up against
a chain link fence 

they will have
been waiting