The Mark That Stays

The new burn on my shoulder blade is asymmetrical,

the pink already starting to deepen,

and it brings back the summer I was seventeen,

the day I fell asleep on the dock

and woke up blistering.

My mother put vinegar on it. I remember the sting,

the way the smell made me feel sick.

For weeks I was raw. For months after that,

the tan line from my bra strap wouldn't fade.

I can still see it sometimes if I twist around.

A thin pale stripe that marks where I was protected

and where I wasn't, a line that never quite

caught up to the rest of my skin.

This new burn will heal differently. It will fade.

But I'm watching for the line.

I'm already wondering if this is the one

that stays, that marks me the way the other one did,

that becomes a small permanent record

of the day I wasn't careful,

the day I let myself burn.