-a song to Virginia Fox-

drying-up at the full-length mirror

I notice the convex arc of the belly,— the drapery

in the skin of the neck, and the remnant of a grade-school

polio vaccination which has nearly vanished.

a direct examination reveals a clearer image of what was once

a robust site, surrounded by hairline fissures of tension.

now it's seen as a dot, unremarkable, but glossier than

the surface surrounding it, as I assume the primordial pool must have been.

from the corridor at the close of our inoculations, the bell at the Hugo A. Dubuque
is calling us to our desks, where I notice the site of her injection. weeks later

with closer observation, it becomes a delicacy of sorts, more of a blooming, a dandelion's blonde-headed petals circling the sweetest hub, and nothing of a wound.

and for none but this reason, Virginia Fox

comes to mind this morning.