Dermis
by Lou Smith
your skin
layered sweet, layered thick
with ointment made from
soft orange flesh,
sweet
soft stink of Pawpaw
shield
on lips, on hands, on fingertips

your skin was powder,
baby down feathers in morning breeze
I would touch your earlobes, your arms,
the flexion creases of your daily routine

and your thick black hair
you plaited and spun with fingertips
kinks of paths of here and there
from end to root

ovals in cross-section

but my hair grew blonde
honey-hued like the darkened comb
skin the shade of olive oil
you coated in Calamine
to ease the sting
painted cool dusty white, uneven
over mozzie bites, and scabs,
and here below the eye
one scar
remains

Previously published in SWAMP. #1. June 2008.

Lou Smith is a Melbourne-based poet and researcher who grew up in Newcastle, NSW. Her work investigates sense of place, cultural memory
and familial identity. Lou’s first collection of poetry riversalt was published by Flying Island Books in 2015.

Website: https://lousmith.net/