Healing
to time, the master healer
It does not begin
with a needle and a thread
you carefully
work your fingers
around
to suture that
gaping wound
up.
It is an out-of-body experience
of you,
watching yourself,
staring at the cut
absolutely fascinated:
by the colors,
ruggedness,
and depth of it all
as you playfully move
the needle over it
equally fascinated by how
unnecessary
it would be to just
"stitch it shut"
into a polite scar
you wouldn’t have to
explain to others
when they
undoubtedly
spot it.
It is an other-wordly
sublime immersion
into the
cosmos
as the initial cause
of the injury
becomes as
irrelevant
as a bright job offer that
expires
almost as rapidly
as it once
surfaced.
It is laughing at the
visibility
of it all
knowing it’s become akin to
a badge of honor –
the literal
embodiment of
“tear and wear”
you no longer
feel compelled
to conceal.
It is an upward curving
of the lips,
brought on by thoughts
of calm
indifference
that place you
in a completely different region,
in a completely different time zone,
very deservedly
unconcerned
with the genesis
and aftermath
of said wound.
It is you merrily musing:
“bring on the salt”
“pour on the alcohol”
“and rub it all in --
again,
and again,
and again,
till you stop
only once
you’ve lost
all sensation
trying to make
me sense something
that is simply
no longer there”
After all,
healing is realizing
your gaping wound is
still very much
noticeable,
and still very much
irreversibly
deformed.
But it is all yours.
And it burns no more.