365 Bruises

To be worn like badges

Over my poet’s heart:

Bruises.

Blue, green, yellow and purple,

Like a flag at half-mast.

I tell the doctors I fell down the stairs.

And they sigh, and roll their eyes,

And hand me an ice pack and I’m off again.

They know, and I know,

That these bruises

Were given me

Like gifts, wrapped with love and care

Into fists and belts and paddles

Into words and eyes and tears

And kisses salty-sweet, and sticky pink palms,

And warm on a cold face.

But I tell the doctors I fell down the stairs again.

I wear them like a slip under my dress.

I cherish them.

365 bruises, one a day or more,

And everybody knows

I like it.