The Skin Remembers

The sun came down this morning,

a sudden hammer blow.

My shoulders caught the sting,

a familiar, fiery glow.

The skin pulled tight, a memory,

from that summer by the bay.

That smell of cheap lotion,

trying to make the burn go away.

I saw the redness bloom

on forearms, stark and deep.

My shirt felt rough, a kind of doom,

a secret I couldn't keep.

A faint white line, a ghosted strap,

where sun had failed to creep.

My body holds it like a map,

this skin that never truly sleeps.