I see it in the lumps of polyurethane on the floor, the drips of stain on the cabinets, the bruises on my legs, the bleach stains on the towels, the spots on my face, the clothes piled in the corner, the cut on my middle finger, the dishes in the sink, the hair on my legs. Containing a multitude of colors, running our hands and feet where another body has passed, we must be blessed. Leaving marks as we move, marks are left upon us. Surfacing under our skin, tearing through it, grazing it-it is not that different from everything else.