"Streaming"

by Emily Holt, OMS-II

Like wet pain streaking

Down the wall

With color that was too thick

To hold itself up

-I feel myself missing you-

My colors streaming

Down my face,

Pooling in the wrinkles,

(even when I smile)

the colors mix, the hues change.

When they dry, will you recognize me?

[Author’s note: I wrote this in response to a writer’s group prompt to write about “streaming.” My husband doesn’t live in Blacksburg, and I miss him a lot. Sometimes I feel like I’m going through this great transformation while I’m in medical school and he’s not witnessing it or a part of it. I wonder how much I’m really changing and if he notices it when we’re together.]