There is a statue park in Reykjavik up near a church that rises above the town.
Day after day on that first trip, I roamed the park,
trying to make sense of the life I would soon recreate.
At one point my husband passed by me,
laughing on his phone.
I was already obsolete.
I didn't know it at the time, but while my husband was erasing me, my body's edges were becoming,
slowly rising like a scar, stronger and more visible than before.
The skin records like a stenographer
what our memory leaves behind,
suggesting new beginnings we could never imagine for ourselves.