Sept/Oct 2020 • Vol. XLII No. 5 All of This Is True |

The Goddess of Scars

I mark you with melanin. A crosshatch of collagen —  better the scar than the loss of limb, better the clean line, raised itch, than the festering wound beckoning death. My apostles: my keloids, my atropic, my contractures, my hypertrophic response —  each a love I bear to the mammal of you, the ruptured vessel, the broken-in dermis. Consider my evolution a song to survival. Consider cells my priests, their work a ladder of prayer, each stitch an epistle. I grieve to see you separate from your self. My atonement is a bridge to build you back together — while you can never be born again, you can recover. Each time I sign you, witness the parable of action and consequence. I do not think you show enough reverence. You were never meant to be a smooth canvas but a texture, a testament. I bless you with a story and each and every time you live to tell the tale.

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