New Skin


It is a cycle
We step out of
Our robes of dust
Shedding cells as fine powder
Residue of past selves
Lingering motes twisting
Choreographies within sunbeams.

It is renewal
A disrobing, fresh and pink
Flushed from the steam
Grit and fingerprints littering
The drain, all the evidence
Washed away
The blood and sweat and scars
All the stories forgotten.

If only it were that easy
If only the ink
Did not seep beneath the page
Yet it does, we bear the stains
A thousand hands
Leave lines on flesh or bone or nerve
The best achievement
Only a rough scraping.

Yet sorrows can be overwritten
The text can be edited
Tumorous passages excised
With patience
With time
With a steady hand
Psalms can replace poison pen letters
If you choose your authors well.

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