Wounds come in a variety of forms. When we were little girls, my best friend and I cut our palms and rubbed them together. The gesture was done so we could be ‘Blood Sisters’. Our cut was not deep enough to create a lasting scar. My grandpa, on the other hand, was electrocuted as a young father and lost half of his left foot. All my life I saw him walk in custom made shoes. The end of the shoe was cut open, the sole cut in half, and the excess leather folded over and sewn to the sole of the shoe. He walked with a bit of a limp. I imagine the healing of his foot took on many different colors, and it’s certain  the smells that came from it would have turned the toughest stomach.