Writing from the stemistry lab
Self-portraits
by Marilyn Longstaff
(i) human clone
I look at the portrait of my sister and see myself. Would the artist have loved me as well as her? I am her double, my hair exactly the same straw-in-August colour, the same silky texture, although I wear mine in the style of today, not with 50’s Alice-band. I have dyed it many shades, but its truth will always out. I examine my broad shoulders, and see hers emphasized by puffed sleeves. Later, she tried to disguise them.
(ii) chimera
I have broken my retroussé nose.
Now, its nostrils are even more prominent —
more like a snout,
the hospital have taped it in such a way
to bring porcinity out.
I am covered in factor 25 to stop sunburn.
I am grunting — my sinuses are killing.
I wear my silk purse over my left shoulder
to keep my whistle in.
My pointed ears are hairy,
folded forearms coated in gingery bristles,
fingers fused together into trotters.
(iii) surplus embryo collector
Used to work on the bins but packed it in; my girlfriend Sheila couldn’t stand the stench, so I went to the job-centre and they offered me this. Instead of fluorescent orange overalls, I have a white lab coat, white rubber wellies, and white gantlets. With my tiny vacuum cleaner, I go from lab to lab, at the ‘rejects’ table, suck out the contents of every petri dish. Sheila knows I work in a hospital lab and she’s proud of me, doesn’t mind the antiseptic smell. I don’t give her any details. Now I’m clean, we’re trying for a baby.