Into the Wilderness

 

 

Into the Wilderness

‘My 'gina hurts,’ she says.
She's four. We're camping.
No mothers, doctors. Nothing. Nobody.
A bat swoops low over the fern.
‘Leave it alone,’ I say.
‘Your body will fix it.’ (I pray.)
She brushes her teeth and spits into the fire.
‘It hurts,’ she says.
There are limits to my first aid training.
A splint? Tourniquet?
I grasp my flashlight. ‘Let me see.’
She is standing. ‘Sit down.’ She sits.
‘Spread your legs.’
My hand shakes.
I'm no prude, you see
yet something down there frightens me.
In four years, in spite of diapers, baths,
shameless prancing nudity, I have somehow
never looked closely never dared
feared what I would
what I now see is a
     lovely
     little
     vagina.
‘I don't see anything wrong.
Except it's dirty.’
I wash it. She squeals at the cold water.
But she's cured.
So (I think) am I.

…..

From my book Son of a Poet
Image by Jozef Mikulcik