What the Body Remembers
I washed my hands
but, puzzled, I still felt
the need to wash again, this time
with the water blistering hot.
I scrubbed my face
until I glowed pink-
new, just born,
and smelling of apricots-
but still puzzled.
I considered rubbing away
with handfuls of sand.
The need to scrape,
to flay my skin:
overwhelming, consuming.
In desperation
I tried to solve
the mystery of my skin.
What is it creeping on the surface
or beneath, unseen?
The mind does not try to remember
but it seems the body
cannot forget.
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