The Band

I took it off and the mark remains,

pale ring on my wrist, my name

in that hospital font, a date I don't

want to hold but still contains.

The indentation looks like proof,

like something kept track of me

when I couldn't keep track of myself,

like evidence I had to move.

My finger traces where it was.

It's almost a comfort, that scar

that isn't quite a scar, that mark

that says I was here, I was.

The indentation will fade.

I'm not ready for that yet.