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by Kim Lefort

Image of an abdomen with a surgical scar from belly button down.
Image credit: Shane on Unsplash

When they cut me open (the second time)

the nerves were severed and now it feels like

someone else’s skin under my fingertips

I didn’t know it would be this way, and so

(the first time) I touched the scar

I cried

I sometimes still do

there’s a part of myself that will never feel again

A piece of abdomen, right beside the belly button

Pale and scarred and inconsequential

What is consequential skin

but one that can feel warm and one that protects

a necessary casualty for survival

My body feels disconnected and

I grieve, understanding

how the flesh becomes a map to the mind

My skin was cut

but it is my mind that bled

I think it is still bleeding


Black and white photo of the author, Kim Lefort.
Kim Lefort

Kim Lefort (she/her) is an aspiring writer based in Montreal, Canada. Her work has been published in the McGill student journal Samizdat. She likes frogs, folklore, and urban agriculture.

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