What Lies Beneath? Christine Ray

what lies beneath
this skin
no longer
supple and new
etched with
time’s fine lines
that radiate
from tired eyes
faintly shimmering scars
that circle my neck
and pelvis like
ironic smiles
black ink
needled carefully
over time
marking territory
finally and
unequivocally mine?

what lies beneath
these ribs
grown of mineral
laced with steel
that allows blood
to pump
strong and steady
even when memory
bites harsh like frost
against tender fingertips
and toes
and loss sweeps wild
and bitter
crimson tides
down my throat
that try
but fail
to drown me?
the heart of the survivor
beats on