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After the sunburn

January 4, 2014

After the sunburn, my arms peel, the skin coming off in rolls after a shower, in flakes the rest of the time.

I scratch my arms and think of snow, and of whether or not these shavings could be pressed into a voodoo doll.

It’s not if, it’s when, I say, and I’m talking about skin cancer, and he points at me, hard, the way that means be quiet and don’t tempt fate. I roll around on the bed, shedding skin, wishing I was a little less Irish and a little more Basque.

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