You’re a lifetime ago
Back when I was a different person.
I needed to shed you like an identity,
Like shedding a skin
Creased on the ground behind me
Grateful that it kept me together
Until it couldn’t, any longer.
I kept trying to put that skin back on
But it no longer fits
Not because it grew too tight
But because it grew too loose
It won’t stay up any longer
And inside, I feel unprotected.
The only option left
Is to choose myself, and this new skin,
Skin I’m still getting to know
Like the back of my hand.
Speaking of the back of my hand:
I got a burn cooking chicken the other night.
You used to do that for us.
Anyway, it left a mark.
My hand looks different than before,
My pointer finger has a purple line.
Now, when I meet people
When I shake hands with them for the first time,
They will meet a new woman--
The woman with new skin
The woman with a chicken scar.
