Scar 2 (9)

Silvery ripples across my hips
flowing thickly towards my thighs
unnoticed until the sun bronzes my skin
but leaves these symbols untouched.

I cup my bare breasts, lifting
turning this way and that to catch
a twinkle. Faintly, twins of the
lower branches wink in the light.

My belly escaped these cicatrix
internalizing its own failures
by heads tucked into rib cages
pressing lungs for months on end.

When the life has drained
all that’s left are the scars
like grooves on the bottom of
an ancient, dried creek bed.

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