she used to call me Chicken Skin
because of the bumps on my arms
she was always obsessed with skin
hers, mine
picking everything

“It’s how I say I love you.”
she’d reach for a spot on my face 
I’d shrug her off for as long as I could
being smaller, younger
it was never for long

I thought that was a way to say I love you
so I brought it with me and gave it to 
the first one I loved
she didn’t want it
it made her feel self-conscious
like I was judging her
I thought that’s what we did for each other

I didn’t get chicken skin
didn’t understand 
until I was there when they killed a chicken
then I killed a chicken

this is what they do
before it gets to a store 
they said

dump the bird
neck slit blood drained
in hot hot water
pull the feathers off from feet to neck
the raw skin left behind

I don’t know if she knew the process 
had slit a throat
or had seen it done

she called me chicken skin again
and I hit her
I didn’t know I did it until it was done