Scars
by
Jude Kyrie

No one gets through life without scars.
I don’t mean being
accidentally scarred.
Like a burn or cut from glass.
The other type
Like the quietness that fills you
When driving through Fruitland
With the window down on a spring day.
The blossoms perfume choking your soul.
And all you can taste is her lips
like the day you made love to her
and she tasted of peaches.
If that was all
it would be bearable.
But holding back tears
When snowflakes
fly for the first time.
Or
That playlist fires up unannounced.
Finding her woolen gloves or
Her lipstick tube in the glovebox.
And people say to you
Hey are you ok?
And the words
It’s just my scars showing.
Form silently on your lips.