Wednesday, September 09, 2009

Prompts September 9th 01

A story, “The Seven Ages of Skin”

When I am an old women and have purple skin

Had we but world enough and time

There is a spot just here, in the hollow of my pelvis

Nobody saw him, the tattoo’d man

Sunday, my father working in the frost, the skin of his hands red and cracking

And of a baby, so smooth, ready for scars

The midwife was small, beautiful, with olive skin and hands that were light

It is the softness in her face

If I should die, think only this of me: dying, my friend, is not all it’s cracked up to be

I will be illustrated at the very least

Smooth skin, but not a shaved cat

If skin was an instrument and we played it

Move him so the sun catches his child-dying face

The fingertip, the ear, the neck

Perhaps red-raw, perhaps soft and talcumed

The machine sucked it from the bed, your skin, mine, inseparable

Your scars, one like an arrow, one a heart

Sometimes the person, sometimes the skin

You reach across and touch me. My heart leaps up

But you wear gloves and dark glasses

Eventually, we are all naked

But it is the Caesar scar I love

Trace me, slowly

There is something electric

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