I woke and tried to roll to my left

I woke and tried to roll to my left.

Sharp pain, then gone.

White sheets twisted around me, bereft,

and my red shoulder burned on.

By tomorrow, a tan line.

By next week, nothing.

The body doesn't ask if I'm fine

with it just moving,

indifferent, writing on your skin

and erasing it,

marking and unmarking you within

a week, like you don't matter much.

I lay there and felt it fade,

the heat rising like it had somewhere to be,

the pain already paid

for and forgotten by me.

The sheets were cool.

I tested my shoulder.

The pain was small.

I was getting older

just lying there,

watching the red

become memory. The care

the body takes—

leaving you unmarked,

moving on to its next thing,

leaving you in the dark

about what it means.