Yael Valencia Aldana            (Pompano Beach)       (LD)
To Watch Her Face Fall


        I


I am wounded
my washi thin skin darkens with blood 
frayed open flesh ragged 
at the edges. I don’t want
to tell her, to show her--
but she will ask.

I can bear it alone, the weight of this upset, knit 
the lesion back before I see her,
continue the interlacing of fascia after
I see her, conceal the bruise 
the sliced skin--
but she will ask.

I harrow then sear watching her face crest and fall 
watching her shining shadow. If only for a few 
minutes till her face brightens, 
till her mouth dances to distract
from my harm.

Our love is this silent chaffing.


        II


Bodily harm becomes invisible shadowing
barely darkened imperfections, a closing 
over that will smooth--
return to unblemished perfection 
to all eyes but ours, only us aware 
of the slight scar lightly covered in hair.
Smoothing over her face that fell.

She cannot forgive because it was me
I cannot forgive because it was her--
her face that fell. 

She wants to go back. Soothe 
with words as slim as apple chips. 
Soothe with her rhythmic voice 
that rises and falls in waves.

Our faces slick over, leaving only slight 
sharpening in the corners of the shields 
in our eyes squinting, glinting 
black metal.

She will say it’s alright and not mean it
I will agree and not mean it.

We will put our glossy heads together, 
draft new plans for unnamed streets.

She will hold my hand tighter
which is the only good bit. Until I am ready 
to leave the hearth of her protection 
sheathed in armor we will temper
anew.

Originally published in Superstition Review
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