unsame arm
at 8 years of age
it lay on the slanted top of a 3rd-grade desk
and its owner stared at it
wanted to remember it for the future
it was hairless satiny smooth
had a hand with stubby fingers
at 12 an allergist’s nurse made tiny wounds on it
in two rows
and painted the wounds with different stuffs
to test his allergic reactions
and strawberries cat dander and brazil nuts blazed
at 26 he did industrial deliveries
in a beat-up blue ford pickup truck
and he liked to drive with the window down
and rest his arm on the window ledge
and let it fry in the desert sun
in the days before sunscreen
at 53 he pedaled his bicycle at high speed
east on the sidewalk and cobblestones
by camelback road
when at once a jeep cherokee sprang from an alley
and he squeezed the front brake before the back
sending him over the handlebars
and into s l o w m o t I o n
and in that protracted split second
he watched his forearm kiss cobblestones
and slide on them
burning off epidermis
before he could react
here and now and four months and a day
before his seventy-second birthday
the old man looks at his old arm
which like he is battered but serviceable
the road rash has slowly healed over sixteen years
with scar tissue now comprising only 20%
of the original wound
and in the 63 years since the 3rd grade
his left arm and hand has thrown hardballs and darts
embraced hundreds of friends and a dozen lovers
combed his hair from shoepolish brown
to silver-glinted grey
and molded and vesselized tons of clay
and let the clay and the lovers and friends and sun
mold him as well
One with Clay, Image and Text 