Perfectomy

she is skeleton with skin on, 

spackled love and atomic interactions 

bursting at the sarcomeres 

to leave fingerprints on this  

windowpane called life. 

and what better way than to  

learn the healer’s caress? 

mending wrought by 

word and deed and gentle glances, 

shepherd in sickness and in health.  

under the knowledge waterfall she goes,  

neurons shaking hands with every shiny droplet, 

thrilling novelty of chasing dreams.  

it is daring greatly, 

parents’ pride, 

confident striving amidst the flash flood of 

biology humming within her, 

hard work 

hard won 

hard-pressed to find something else worth this devotion, 

and then it is just hard— 

all of life is numbers and letters,  

barometers of worthiness, 

and she is dissolving. 

blind descent into bottom-of-a-well-deep darkness before  

she uncurls her fingers 

to let the smoke free. 

down here the currency is vulnerability, 

and it is crowded with permission 

to be un-amazing, 

un-composed, 

utterly un-done. 

she sits in ashes 

surrounded by a fellowship of imperfection, 

sojourners of freedom bravely baring  

scratches and dents, 

and she tastes wholeness. 

pressing the scalpel to pretense and polish, 

she is training to be a  

wounded healer. 

rent skin and bones forged of ancient stardust  

whisper the embrace of shared humanity, 

courage of being seen. 

every genuine tapestry has at least 

one stitch out of place, 

grandma says— 

what grace to be  

haphazardly sewn scars, 

a treasury of errant threads.