Cutting into

            peacefulness of

            skin weaving together,

            patching and overlapping,

            as if filling

            a crack

            a pothole

            on roads

            for smooth passage.

 

            Cutting into

            open flesh

            on fingers

            by a can of corn,

            the splitting slash

            uneasy to bend

            burns to wash,

            setting a slow process,

            of healing.

 

            Cutting into

            a turf burn,

            skidding

            sliding

            across a field

            generating heat,

            friction,

            forming a raspberry

            abrasion.

 

            Cutting into

            pale skin

            that marks a

            moment with,

            “I was…”

            by rubbing

            a flat,

            thick scar

            as if it

            would comfort

            the wound

            by telling a story.