by Lindsey Heatherly Martino Pietropoli I met God at the aisle between analgesics and wound care. I was no longer in search for healing, so I settled for superficial repairs. He offered to cleanse me, to save me from myself, so He took a box of Band-Aids, peeled each one apart, and placed them across His skin. He said, “I am the body,” and I asked if He would remember me. “Hush, child,” He whispered, as His index finger brushed my cheek and landed upon my lips. “Healing is gi