Ode on My Episiotomy
Forget pearls, lace-edged kerchiefs, roomy pleats— this is my most matronly adornment: stitches purling up the middle of me to shut my seam, the one that jagged gaped upon my fecund, unspeakable dark, my indecorum needled together with torquemadan efficiency. But O! the dream of the dropped stitch! the loophole through which that unruly within might thread, catch with a small snag, pull the fray, unknit the knots unnoticed, and undoily me. Don't lock up the parlor yet; such pleasure in unraveling, I may take up the sharps and darn myself to ladylike again.
From A Metaphorical God by Kimberly Johnson. Copyright © 2009 by Kimberly Johnson. Used by permission of Persea Books, Inc. (New York). All rights reserved.