Chalaza 1: either of two spiral bands in the white of a bird's egg that extend from the yolk and attach to opposite ends of the lining membrane 

- Merriam-Webster

​

Once my hands were hands

building towers, climbing trees

in childhood gardens – I

 

don't remember

(You don't choose to remember,

says my helpful therapist) –

 

my body pieces, someone

else's false teeth never

do what I want, none,

 

wild animals – each part

belongs to a different fool

and the I that sits and watches

 

cannot put me together, arm

bone, rib, toe, spine,

badly stitched.

 

In my sleep I hear

startled cries,

my own,

 

torn; I could be 

part officer and part 

private,

 

completely ungovernable.

I'm told none of me

is true.

 

In morning mirrors look 

for memories written

where flesh meets flesh.

 

Once I shaved my skull, 

under hair shadow

no letters; for my pains

 

tied down for a week.