Underneath

Underneath my shirt is my skin,

And the two red lines my cat engraved on my hand

And the bruise that blossomed from my abrupt encounter with a protruding wall,

And the inky black smudge that my pen left behind,

And the long slender scar that curls around my right arm,

A fading reminder of multiple bicycle collisions into the mailbox,

Which now slumps, permanently, to one side

Marking the entrance of the house where we

No longer live.

My battered skin conceals my heart and

My unblemished memories.

By Sara Martin