| | Blood...from Notes from the Ragamuffin Underground, Thursday, April 12th.
Today at work while in our usual hurry I managed to run my thumb across a piece of tin with all of my weight behind it. It entered at an angle and slid for a few inches. I could feel it moving across the inside of my thumb, it felt warm from the sun. Jumping down from the ladder I had been on I instinctivley held it tight with my other hand. Almost instantly I could see the blood seeping through my tightly clenched fingers. It struck me how bright the blood was, how primary it seems when it's a really deep, real blood cut. I held it up against the bright blue April should-be-summer-but-still-wintry sky to see what it looked like. It wasn't dark or crimson at all: it was firetruck and apple and superman red. Then as it dried it became sticky and eventually dark on my hands. I put on some band-aides and my gloves and went back to work. My thumb was numb like it was dead, but tender along the slice. Later at home I was washing my hands and I could smell the blood. It struck me because I couldn't ever remember smelling blood before. It smelled like rust. Standing over the sink I though of Pontius Pilate. But I washed my hands anyway. |
| | Posted 4/12/2007 11:36 PM - 1 comments
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