Band-aids

This wound vomiting pus and blood

I cover it with my hand

I close my eyes and think of birds

But still this out pour continues

it redoubles its efforts

unexpected articles emerge from this pit

a typewriter

a shell

a pair of scissors

I grab at them, but they escape into the mud

yarn

blue paint

the kitchen sink

spill out and disappear

The loss sends me spinning

I can't even get a firm grasp on the words in my head

"caterpillar"

"silk"

"envelope"

all come tumbling out, never to return

I put both hands over the wound

I scream

I cry

No hands, no stitches, no band-aids

Keep this spring from springing.