Squaretable Seminars

Purple and pink and white,
squiggly like one of those paintings where the author
smears on colors
thick as tomato paste, left to streak
down in the rain.
Just not straight,
and not smooth,
and not pretty anymore.
Puckered and wrinkled and pulled taut
a few too many times
trying to hold myself in.
Fine and silky like sour milk dribbling from the chin;
slightly raised, slightly sunken.
Ruts or watermarks maybe
of a growing self,
an inside pushing too fast against the
slow elasticity
that had to find ways to
keep up.

Discolored,
much as those other threads of my surface,
but these have stories
to explain themselves.
One from a knife,
another from another knife,
and that other one from a knife as well.
These had to tear open before they could heal,
which they did
eventually;
first crusty with a scab and then
after peeling back layer after layer after layer
a few thin, nearly see-through patches
became permanent.
Gouges and scrapes of
carelessness and accidents
sealed up behind welds
almost invisibly
holding the torn seams together.


© Hannah Walleser