Scars You see them sometimes When they’re wearing short sleeves Or have rolled their sleeves up As if to get down to it You want to glance away But your eyes are drawn To the lines of raised flesh What else would they be But scars the razor left And if they’re there on the wrist If they’re not say on the ankle Does that mean they were in the bath Blood purling like aerial silks In the warm water Not just cutting To make tangible amorphous pain But committed to it And even if there are tattoos That seem like testaments To having survived something You try to be gentler As if they might still open As if they’ll never heal
That's a deep dive. I like the ending. But even without seeing scars, we could be gentler.
Great writing.