Dancing Lines

By Emily Clairmont

Silver patterns against peach toned skin
this patchwork of my body
left behind by surgical steel
is revolting

At first glance,
all barriers have disappeared
and on display are
ugly divots left by your hand
gorges to be filled by sinew not yet created

On the second,
they have become purple speed bumps
red lined
hot to the touch
the first thing my eyes latch on to

But the third glance,
that is when fire has fizzled out
red turned pink turned silver
the delicate lines emerge
hiding in plain sight on a peach canvas
never quite managing to blend in 

The dance they create tells
the age-old tale of victory
against a foe unseen