touch

by Carissa Ma

She feels it as a slight glow against her skin – 

a small mercy, vermilion.

Touch forgives

before sight, before speech;

it is the first, the last,

and truthful to a fault,

like unpainted wood, raw salt.

She renders herself up, is erased;

enters the dark amnesia

of her own body, loses her name;

brackets oblivion, like a pair

of empty parentheses – at once immolated

and made clear, however briefly

existing

without boundaries.

Carissa Ma is an Assistant Professor of Anglophone Literature at Florida Atlantic University. Outside of teaching and researching postcolonial speculative fiction, she enjoys hunting for vintage finds at thrift shops. She’s currently attempting to master surfing (with varying levels of grace), all while being on a lifelong quest to find the best secondhand treasure in South Florida.