Polished skin

  1. A fraying thread now fading red knitting my heart splitting apart.
  2. A crimson rag I glisten tag the lonely tears that hold my fears.
  3. A tattered shawl in battered brawl comforts my back from hurt and crack,
  4. It flood with red from blood I shed, my weighted yoke, deflated, broke.
  5. A scarlet rope ‘round scar-red hope to bind a hole in mind and soul.
  6. A ruddy pin so bloody thin securing pain, injured again.
  7. A cherry cloth, it nary doth erase away the basest ache.
  8. And here I sit so counterfeit with polished skin but mauled within.

By Kim Siever

I live in Lethbridge with my spouse and 4 of our 6 children. I’m a writer, focusing on political news, social issues, and the occasional poem. My politics are radically left.

I’m also dichotomally Mormon. And I’m a functional vegetarian: I have a blog post about that somewhere around here. My pronouns are he/him, and I’m queer.

Comment on this story

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.