Day Three

Three days. The bruise has shifted color.

Not the red of fresh injury anymore.

Not yet the yellow of repair.

Something in between. A blue laid bare.

I keep looking at it.

The shape almost a thumbprint—

like something grabbed me and let go,

like time is suddenly visible.

This is what time looks like.

This particular blue-green.

The color of being in between

damage and healing. Neither whole

nor broken. Just in the role

of becoming.

The healing is so slow.

Days pass and the colors flow

from one shade to another,

so gradually you never see it happen,

only that it has.

I think about the work underneath.

The ruptures closing. The breach

of skin sealing. The body's slow

mathematics of putting itself back.

Three days and still blue.

Still visible. Still becoming new.

Still in the middle of what was

and what will be. Still the proof

that time moves even when you don't see.

I could cover it.

But I don't.

I keep watching it shift,

the slow evidence

that damage doesn't stay the same,

that even small wounds take time

to transform.