…
We have arrived at a place of togetherness, and we now have an understanding. We are one, inseparable. We are beautiful together. We belong together. My scar and I complete each other.
Tag: <span>Scar</span>
It was almost midnight, the house and the neighborhood were dark and quiet, and everybody was asleep, except us. I held him in my arms, and he sighed and put his head on my shoulder. When I turned to look at him, he lifted his head, and when we looked into each other’s eyes, I knew a part of my heart belonged now to him.
How we look at our scars is entirely up to us. We get hurt, and when we heal, what’s left is a mark -inside or outside. As many of you know, my husband had open-heart surgery just two years ago. Whenever I look at his naked chest I shudder and wish somehow I could have prevented it, but it only lasts for a few seconds, then I am grateful. He looks at his scar with joy. He was spared a heart attack and considers himself the luckiest man alive.
I was watching my zealot neighbor
picking individual zoysia blades at dusk
when it occurred to me there was no way
he would ever be able to disguise
that UFO scar on his front yard.
He could subscribe to every right-wing rag
but he could not deny his perfect zoysia grass
had been scorched by a spaceship.
I thought about drones awhile,