The History of Skin

by | Feb 4, 2023 | DominiQue Christina Day Two

What am I but the history of my skin moving through the world, the story of my collisions and contusions? Time inscribed in the error of the flesh.

Her name was Svetlana, but she had other secret names. One night she pressed her mouth against my mouth and moved down the muscles of my neck, my chest, and at the hip she stopped and spoke something into my body, something Russian that I did not understand, untranslated sound entering my flesh.

In the end we are breath and clay and all our woundings.

A scar ran like spilt wax down her shoulder and arm. She never talked about it. When we first met she moved her hand to cover it like a bandage.

On that final bed, undressed of time and all our moments, who will read the stories of our scars?

Naked we sat on the bed like dazed survivors on a raft. We drank beer from a bottle and she skinned a boiled potato and brought pieces to my mouth on the blade of a knife.

A scar will always find another scar, she said.

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