the wound

a poem

i am very late to this party, but in this piece i am pulled into a different mindset to explore what flows through me in response to Nimila the Inferno’s brilliant prompt: ///// THE CUT /////

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keloid scars, which healed

over and

over top of something i can’t

see anymore. i

wrapped it in

burlap—

buried it

in the clay earth—

six feet deep, where living dirt

would consume—starve it of oxygen,

reuse;

and i awarded it no stone—

no tomb.

but now—

i fear

i buried a piece of me,

along with that bundle—

accidentally.

in my dreams, i journey back,

take my shovel to the frozen earth;

i spear and hack—to no avail,

and i can’t remember—

is this even

where i dug its grave?

it wouldn’t matter—this rocky soil

i cannot penetrate,

cannot crack open the ground.

buried too deep—and deeper now.

but i feel

something

i look down

to see

wounds gushing blood.

not a shovel… but

a knife in my hand.

what have I done?

thank you for reading 🖤

em

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