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Body one by Dawn Watts

There is a spot just above my ankle. On the inside of where my calf begins. Where there

is no hair. Just skin. Smooth as buttercream. I discovered this spot while rubbing my leg knee

to ankle motion. My limbs bowed open as if to catch a giant ball. Thinking that I saw my

mother do the same thing. She was tired from doing a day's worth of housework. I was tired of thinking.


Perhaps it is the comfort I seek. Found. Inward feeling of motion. The repetition. I zone out so hard the pureness of nothing opens up biting into a summer peach. The spot jostled me out of soon to come complacent boredom. As aforementioned buttercream. Touching it was a surprise motherfucker kind of moment because my skin is rough. The texture resists even cocoa butter pure hard form.


I notice so much of my constant day to day changing of my body yes please no more.

This time this time I forgot my name, learning to love this skin. For just this moment this hour

this day. So I cherish this spot to ease my weary mind. The mind that worries a stone to smooth edges. There is a soothing reminder, there is a spot on my ankle to count on in those dark times, those rough minutes in long passing hours of the day.



Dawn Watts is a writer of poetry and prose. She has been published in Tealight Press, Serotonin, Stone of Madness Press and in a forthcoming issue with Pocketfire Magazine. She lives in Chester Pennsylvania. Twitter: @wattswritten

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