I read a poem about
Scars telling stories

Writing letters

You can hardly see the one
On my cheek

When I’m forty I will forget it’s there

It is in the shape of a flag and I got it from
Falling off the ledge in the back yard I was running
Too
Fast

I have another on
The back of my ankle
I found it a few years ago and have no recollection of
Receiving it, which, I suppose,
Is a good thing.

And the others
Are lined up

They tell their story,
Write a letter to myself
About life and love and

Brokenness.

God knows what else.