Skin

1.

Annie peeled pears with a knife
and the skin squirreled down
around and around and around
in a perfect curl,
not a peel I was able to achieve,
although I tried.

And quinces and apples for pies,
we kids would try.
Even with peelers, we would fail.
After that we'd vie
to cut strips that were thin
to transparence.

With potatoes, the standard was speed.
We'd nick out eyes
and splash them in record flat time
until time was lost
with the tip of a finger cut off
and the cut was tied
to avoid making stains on the white.

We were both quite young.

Tomatoes and peaches we blanched.
I would prick the skin
and watch it curl back with a will
and, if lucky, slide
skin off with my hands in one piece
like the skin I peeled
after being too long in the sun.

2.

What is it about skin that is so human,
that makes us scrape
or remove it like a glove and tan,
then cut and sew it into shapes?

Beauty, we say, is skin deep or we say it's not.
We talk about leopards and spots
and the chance of change.

Still, our skin is what we are caught in.
We cannot like snakes
scrape our skin off and leave to dry
or like snakes replace
old skin with a new set of clothes,
though it's true
we replace skin cells over time.

Even so, skin keeps the scars
to remember its hurts in the way that stars
send light across years
unremembered.

Like stars and mines,
skin experiences internal fires;
flames are damped down
with ices and cooling waters.
Skin is not alone
in taking summer pleasure
from an evening breeze.

3.

By skin we're known
and are so from the time we are born.
Skin is what we bring
the present of ourselves
wrapped and tied in.

It's our body's face,
quite different from the one we prepare
with our creams and bases,
and a face that is less prone to lie.

Still, we're caught in space.
We are up in our skin or are down
and can even trace
exuberance in the flush on our face.

The unopened case
that contains our body and is chaste
as a long thin peel
that, initially smooth, becomes rough
and is what we slough
cell by cell
to prepare for the future.

We leave just enough—
like chewing gum packed in a lunch—
someone may munch
for flavor
after lunch hour is over.