The wound on the beating red
Has lain bare for some time now.
The jagged edges do nothing
To stop the oozing flow of blood.
The pain’s immense—it won’t stop,
Not for all the salves in the world.
But an animal shows up,
A cat, a dog, a mouse, a snake, a turtle—
The species is irrelevant.
The animal approaches in a dream,
Looks the red flesh over,
And gently lays a paw or tail or foot over it.
The edges start to shrink,
New flesh sprouting over the bridging
The two far sides, healing has begun.
The wound will never truly heal;
A puckered pinching of the skin will remain,
But it will be in the shape
Of that paw, foot, hoof, or tail.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
The wound on the beating red
Has lain bare for some time now.
The jagged edges do nothing
To stop the oozing flow of blood.
The pain’s immense—it won’t stop,
Not for all the salves in the world.
But an animal shows up,
A cat, a dog, a mouse, a snake, a turtle—
The species is irrelevant.
The animal approaches in a dream,
Looks the red flesh over,
And gently lays a paw or tail or foot over it.
The edges start to shrink,
New flesh sprouting over the bridging
The two far sides, healing has begun.
The wound will never truly heal;
A puckered pinching of the skin will remain,
But it will be in the shape
Of that paw, foot, hoof, or tail.
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