the words she uttered,
marked by a fine soot, scribed themselves
on the inside of my sore ribs;
with wrist and finger adroit,
it burned off the serifs
i had used to write myself down
as something utterly known.

i stood there, before her - before myself -
dross coating my feet, altered
by this strange medicine.
naked and sparse and
unknown, chiseled
before her strokes, i am.

it will
hold and
i will heal.