I reveal myself to the sun,
A season of heat, a season of sweat.

The white lines on my arms
are only remnants of a battle
I lost long ago.

When young they are bright red,
So clear against my pale winter skin.

But, somehow, they are brighter than ever
against my sun-tanned, sun-burnt body.

Only memories of a brutal war
Are only more vivid in summer's light.

A season of reliving, a season of trauma.