Beautiful

Beautiful
My once dainty hands became ugly.
Blisters from handling hell hot saute pans,
Cuts from too swift knife work,
My little finger permanently out of joint,
Mishapen, arthritic and painful on cold days.
Ugly brown scars from blisters burst
And reformed,
A long scar from a knife…
All the ugliness from a career of cooking.
When we married my husband slid the ring
Over the stump of my ring finger
and tenderly kissed it.
Years later he kissed the scar
On my stomach –
The scar where the laser knife slit me from navel to pubis,
The doctor removing from me
the organs and lymph nodes
Holding the cancer in his hands
and discarding as meducal waste.
My husband said:
Wear the two piece bathing suit at the beach – show the world you are a survivor,
So i did.
Because I am.
I showed off my scar proudly
And held my face up to the sun
And laughed.

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