Member-only story
POETRY PROMPT RESPONSE
Tabula Rasa
time writes upon us all
A man of a certain age plops his naked self into a chair opposite a mirror. He sighs. Then a wry chuckle. It is what it is.
Definitely not a blank tablet, this guy. He is writ upon by time, etching networks of wrinkles. There are sags where muscle used to be. (No judgment please, younger readers. It is what it is and catches up to most of us.)
Two small tattoos of ancient Celtic writing on his forearms, blurred into illegibility. Other marks remain perfectly clear. Scars, mostly caused by surgery. He cannot see the one on the small of his back, left after surgery on intervertebral discs. Other marks from different wounds are visible from front and side.
The longest one, close to twelve inches, on his thigh over his femur. Doctor pieced shards of thighbone together like a jigsaw puzzle, fastening them together with stainless steel screws and such. Also, there are two vertical scars, one on the underside of each wrist. Could be alarming if you don’t know they are surgical. Those incisions gave access to the surgeon repairing radius and ulna bones broken when the patient used his hands to break a headlong fall over a too high curb next to the street. More plates and screws fixed to shards to allow healing.
