MC1R

Shawn Keller
Nov 6 · 2 min read
Photo by Eric Goverde from Pexels

In the place they called Augusta General in 1973,
birth defects had to be profound to be noticed.
Humpbacked Mongoloids, Thalidomide Flipper Men, but I slipped by,
quietly ginger,
with my soul born on the outside.
Rusty and delicate as ginger skin, my soul is, fair to contrast my hair’s pale fire.
Science has told me that to be ginger is to feel pain differently.
It is true, so very.
Why shouldn’t it be?
Our souls are on the outside,
and we give them away.

Elbow to shoulder we stand, and I pitch forward
on this train, murmuring a quick “excuse me”, to her and
my soul rubs off.
Just a quick moment, just the briefest of touches, a fleck
of paint after a hit and run, and a gleam of my soul on her sweater.
Ordering coffee I catch the barista’s hazel eye, a wordless thank you
passes between us, and a soupçon of my soul is deposited in the
tip jar.
A touch, a glance, a handshake, a kindness, a moment, and part of my eternity is gone.
Given away freely, to everyone I meet.
I am the sand grain in a bivalve, making a pearl.
I am the grit in a rock tumbler, polishing the stones.
Like the muse, keeping nothing to myself,
I wax your soul with mine.
It is joked that to be born ginger is to have no soul at all,
or worse, to have a freckle for every
soul I have stolen.
I am no thief.
My freckles are dents, scrapes, nicks,
badges of distinction, medals of honor.
A lifetime of tumbling among the humans,
an eternity of charity, written on my skin, chafed raw
by the effort.

Augusta General sits abandoned, a silent sentinel surveying the Kennebec.
In the basement are three filing cabinets, each a breath away of decaying into rust.
One houses A-H, one I-P and the last Q-Z.
Open the middle one and you will find no paperwork for my birth.
Such records are written elsewhere.
On people.

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