Smoky Skin

Over the years the ribbons have accumulated, lining her arm in an array of whites, smoky greys and blacks, like vines crawling up a railing. She has found they are never undone, the knots are as tight as the day each one was tied. They do not get dirty either, the black is dark as jet and does not fade, the white is pristine as untouched snow. They grow with her as well, for they never tighter with time. They cannot be cut either, she has broken scissors and dulled blades before with trying, but they hold strong as diamonds. For all intents and purposes, they are part of her skin.

Art by Golge Galerisi

Text by Lucie MacAulay