I rise from bed, tie back my hair, touch
the scar where blade met skin
but could not excise my sense of me.
Such a love, I have learnt from me,
to wake from lucid dreams and touch
the tortured path of gravel on my skin
without regret for what was lost; skin
and flesh do not define the worth of me
who loves the mark it pains to touch.
And my skin will love you too, if you touch me.
A Tritina for Marian's Fussy Little Forms,
including words from Sanaa's Get Listed: October Edition
for Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
