They Will Sew the Blue Sail

Medical | Sara Sams

Run two fingers over the surface of your nipple

as instructed by the pamphlet: a smooth,

circular motion, how you make a jar sing.

—The squirrels

that burrowed

in your bedroom walls

to scratch a home out—Buds

relentless inside a body

—The man-made pond

you used to skim for fish,

a vibrant green and pedestrian bridge.

Progress from the areola toward the perimeter,

your fingers, as if their own small moon,

make tiny laps the size of quarters.

—A rush of rainbow scales

like streaks of blush

—A hundred down-turned faces

of trout

—Your little dimpled

self in the tension of a line