Vaginal Moon
There is a moon in my vagina and it needs to be let out by a trained physician in a surgical gown. She will take a long string and pull it out slowly, gently, making sure that the blood drops don’t stain the carpet. When I wake up she’ll tell me to look up at the sky and I’ll see the moon shining down at me, smiling.
Who would have thought that the moon would be stuck in my vagina? I imagined it was something simpler, like an old pair of boots or the sewing scissors. Surely this must be a mistake. That is not the real moon. It is a fake one that’s pretending to be real.
And this is not my vagina. It’s someone else’s and they switched it with mine while I was asleep in the operating room. This vagina feels different. It is murmuring to me in a different language. It’s probably speaking profanities for all I know.
How did I end up with this vagina? Now I’m stuck with it. Just as I’m stuck with the moon who stares down at me, winking as if we share a secret that no-one else knows.