KNITTING SKIN
Do you think you’d know if you heard
the sound of skin knitting?
Faint scratches in the dark, like mice
scrabbling beneath the floorboards.
Hesitant attempts to regain its form,
its stretch, its sense and softness.
Searching across a pulpy gap,
epidermic fingers
reach for each other, wanting to shake
hands and smother the swampy
rawness opened between them, its
stratified epithelium.
New cells bubble out of each other,
multiplying breathlessly,
giddy with the frisson of danger, the risk
they take each time they forge
a new layer. They know that one
move from you, one careless
stretch, one hurried turn and you
will break their necks, undo
all their work, force their newborn
brothers to begin again.
