it is only when you start to bleed

 that she   rushes     towards      your 

coiling body; collapses       to bare  knee

        —bare  earth—     as if    in prayer;

with bare  hand,

catches        your     blood, folds

  the nearest         newspaper  over       itself & 

spits: smears     saliva onto               yesterday’s breaking

news     & presses      paper onto    broken skin:

a makeshift             bandage to

   seal        your    unsealed 

                        hurt—she 

almost has 

                        you     fooled. 

until you feel her   limbs, forced 

     &     stiff

as   they fumble  for     yours.

her fingernails birthing crescents into your skin,

she rises. scowls.   

mutters something about the

stain.

—

By Kelly Suh

Sometimes, “moving on” so that we can “begin anew” means confronting pain we once mistook for love. This piece is a tribute to healing that hurts—the muddied scars of being tended to by the very hands that wounded us, and the muddied ghosts we carry from them.