Memory Prick
a thread of liquid heart
shimmering and swarming with cells
has a certain appeal.
No, what is difficult is resisting
the scab, resisting the tick to
pick and make fresh
the red heat of a wound
to feel a life-source
flourish, again.
Who wants a thing
itching and stunk, brown-crusted
and dead, a part sticking to scar
at last pathetic and pale?
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© 2018 Monica Lewis