lying in the grassI tore the skin on my knees.

Not enough to gush, but enough to flood to the surface, and I scraped my hands too.

How do we learn to catch ourselves when we fall? Why do our hands automatically outstretch, bear our weight, stop our motion?

Why do we want to fly? Falling is the same movement, the same lack of control, only downwards.

My feet are too small for my body. They should be at least a size larger. Maybe that’s why I fall so much.

Why is it that the shallow cuts hurt more than the deep, real ones? Do we expect superficial scrapes to hurt less? Can we not justify the pain?

Or is it that deep cuts feel cleansing? They extend to where our bodies are clean and beautiful and nondescript and self-repairing.

I tore the skin on my knees, and nothing about that scrape was clean or beautiful or nondescript. But eventually it will self-repair.

Welcome to Microvember, my take on NaBloPoMo. Each day this month I’ll be posting microfiction, short vignettes, or poetry, accompanied by photography. See more Microvember posts here

4 thoughts on “Scrape

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