winter comes on strong

There's a split in my hand--
the dried blood seals the chasim
and directs my attention elsewhere..
to my thumb, the way it sticks out
and hitchhikes when I want it to stay
home and read the paper. Paper cuts.
She told me it would rip, if I wasn't
"big enough". Sometimes my body
does not welcome strangers, or lovers..
no matter how wet I am.
I told him this before he left, told him
I could try harder, try to stretch
and open more. I made no promise,
he made no gesture to stay. I can
still see his tire prints in the driveway,
in the snow. I can still see how I
clench my coat around my body,
how I lock heat and myself in.