the bruise on my arm

The bruise on my arm
changes colors like a kaleidoscope.
Blue, then purple, then green,
my stained-glass skin.

I don't know how I got the toy-
perhaps it was a prize at a fair
or a clumsy bump
into a chair.

Maybe I am just a big fish
who has gone and swallowed too much ocean.
Maybe one night in a storm
I unknowingly scooped up a Jonah

who now sits just beneath my skin
and cries out to God to listen.
Over time the colors fade
and the voice grows dim.

The body heals itself with time,
for it was created quite clever,
but the soul cannot,
so I pray for the prophet's escape
from the bloody chamber.