Day Three

Three days ago I bumped the corner of the bed,

and it hurt in that bright, sharp way

that makes you swear and rub it

and try to pretend it doesn't matter.

Today I lifted my pant leg in the bathroom

and looked at what three days had done:

a blue-purple core

with yellow bleeding at the edges,

the bruise transformed

into something almost intentional,

something almost beautiful

in the way that damage can be.

It's not the dark purple anymore,

not the angry fresh color.

It's settled into something else,

something specific,

something that looks like

it was painted there by someone

who knew exactly what they were doing.

I've been looking at it all day,

surprised by how painterly it looks,

how the colors blend

from blue to purple to yellow,

how there's something almost artful

about the way my body

is processing the injury.

The yellow will spread.

The blue will fade to green.

The whole thing will become

less interesting,

less beautiful,

more just the pale reminder

of something that hurt.

But today it's this exact shade,

this specific moment in the healing,

and I can't stop looking at it,

can't stop being struck

by how pain becomes almost

worth it

when you document it over time.