Scarred

From 'Noon Realizations'

The cut on
my finger heals
each day the gap fills
the new skin in layers...

Dry and dead
the old skin peels
in time and falls away
so nicely...

The trace of trauma
is removed in bits
the story unwritten,
unwoven...

As a wool strand
from a blanket lies
ragged in a heap
its form unraveled...

The shard of glass
which cut me is
slowly forgotten and
replaced in memory...

This blanket once covered me
the glass once shone for me
the finger continues to
work for me...

It regains its pink tone
it blends with the rest
of my skin which
radiates health...

Beauty which
renews itself endlessly
makes use of what harmed it
to its advantage...

How is it then, the heart
is so less clever, less able
to forget, for once its cut
the scar stays...