Piercings

words by Elle Janchivdorj, art by Sarah Jun

The pain is an afterthought.
Even as the needle first pierces the skin,
the moment is finishes its job, the intensity
dulls down, much like a bolt of lightning.
Beneath the broken skin, burst vessels pump blood,
each dull throb a distant roll of thunder.
Now, there is an absence:
a gaping hole, an open wound.
Static haunts the air, raises the hair on your skin

and you wait.

What occupies the space is a small metal stud
for the skin to heal around.
It is still tender, it can still fester before it heals.
Keep it clean, give it good care and
wait for the wound to close.

Someday when the storm passes
and the sun breaks through the clouds,

flowers will bloom upon the site

of the scar.