Loss

26 Jan

Loss

is the sudden gift of pain,

an absence

of skin,

the rawness under

a broken blister.

 

Band-Aid after Band-Aid,

you cover it,

hoping each time there might be a little more healing

when the bit of cloth and gauze

is slowly peeled back

a thin faux skin

that hides the sore.

It’s still raw though,

weepy.

So you have to leave it open

to the air.

Every fresh breeze brings a catch in the breath.

Each stride forces your walk into an ever widening curve

so it isn’t hit

so you don’t wince,

and then watch it bleed.

 

Loss

becomes a thickened scab

that cracks when you stretch too much.

It doesn’t flake around the edges,

so you know it’s going away.

Just a hard ugly cap

with a crack

that stays and stays,

to remind you:

 

Here is where I lost something,

a piece of me .

It hurt.

And I didn’t know it was happening.

It happened nonetheless.

And then,

it broke.

The cushion of feelings went away.

The skin got pushed aside.

All I could do then was suffer

this red wound

which might someday be

a scarred ghost,

a reminder to never to move

that way again.

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