And then something happens that jogs your memory ever so slightly.
And then ever so slightly you begin to remember.
And then you remember.
They were purple.
They were scattered and red and purple at the outskirts.
They started to dissipate to yellow and at the edge they were almost green.
You could count them.
They formed constellations on my skin.
They gathered on groups on either side of the nape and wrapped forward.
There were ten groups in a familiar pattern.
A pattern most recognizable at the bottom of sandboxes and painted on mother’s day presents.
Except these were bigger.
These had more force within them.
Too strong for the naiveté imprinted in sand.
To strong to be of anything other than rage.
They were painful.
They constricted passages.
They disallowed breath.
They strangled.
They strangled and I collapsed.
I collapsed in rage.
I collapsed wearing blue.
I was blue.
I was rage in blue.
It jogs your memory when you see the same marks on someone else’s neck.
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