On Opening a Plastic-free Sanitary Towel

I am surprised by the lack of crackle, no slap
of gaudy pink-purple wrapping, instead –

a white cocoon, lightly furred, ready 
to tear like a dandelion clock. The pad

is swaddled in a milky shroud
which comes apart, wispy as albumen.

I peel, slowly, let a web form between
my fingers, then bundle it up

like a first draft and slide a foot
to the pedal bin. I know these remains

will not go to the Pacific or whale stomachs,
but they will not stop the bleeding.