Third Stage

I peeled the beige adhesive from my arm

and saw the color finally settle in.

It’s lost the heat, the flush of early alarm,

and turned to something deeper in the skin.

A center made of midnight and of ink,

with edges turning yellow like a leaf.

It gives a person far too much to think

about the way we hold onto our grief.

I saw it in the freezer’s glass tonight

while reaching for a bag of frozen peas.

A hydrangea blooming in the fluorescent light,

a quiet ache brought down upon its knees.