identity

Wetsuit

The water.
Dark before me, cold - that crushing, heartstopping chill -
The ice-laced memory of youth, ebb and flow there, in North Sea waves.
A rebellion now: this body, its’ years of life - of life-giving and life-living - marked across the skin;
stretched scars of joy, of tears, of memories - the sag of days passing; wrinkles etching recollection.
Yes, a rebellion then, to pull on this neoprene suit
its’ inky thickness wrapping this aging self of mine, warming these bones which now feel the ache of years in their joints,

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