Etches- first draft

I’m writing things on my hand
To help me remember what I need
‘Let go’ is the most commonly written proverb
on the flat surface adjacent to my thumb

I like to write in black ink
Blue ink just cheapens
The tree chronically
Etched my wrist

I rarely write a to-do
Or a phone number –
I waste receipt backs for such
Menial things

I write ‘victory’ on the front of my hand
Things fade quicker from the sweat
Condensed from the back.
My fingers curl into a fist too often

There are only certain places on my small
hand I can write anything long-winded -
The upper palm, exposed, flat down, near the edge
I quote a scripture- one which speaks of no shame

My hands are for me to see as I write and do things.
I go, unaware, that other people are exposed to them.
My boss- an elderly woman in a floral frock-
Asks condescendingly “why do you write on yourself?”,
as if it were akin to cutting.
I hold my hands up to see what was so important,
And explain: “See I’m a Christian and…”
“I’m a Christian too!” she interjects
“but I don’t write on myself!”

“And I like to write reminders to myself
of who I am” I finish in defense.
she scrunches her face in confusion,
but continues to explain the new system.

I don’t wash the good words off on purpose
They always just fade
Just like any positive thought-
present in an instance-
And then gone.