Healing, They Said

She said it the way you deliver good news:

itching means it's working. Smiled.

I thanked her, drove home, tried to use

that at two a.m. — beguiled

by nothing good, just the tape edge

lifting in the night, the skin below

it pink and tight. I can't pledge

gratitude for what I know

is supposed to be progress. My body

files reports I didn't request.

Cellular miles. Something gaudy

about the itch that won't let me rest —

not pain, not quite, but something crawling

inside the new skin. Restless, tight.

I pressed the tape back down. Still pulling

at the corner. Still. All right,

fine. Good news.

I lay there till the light came.