Fiction Writer, but here's a poem I wrote--
SCARS
As I scrub my body in the shower,
Soap suds sliding down the drain,
my fingers find the scar on my right hip--
an ancient scar, thick and white,
from falling off a steel trash can
onto a milk bottle when I was five--
blood mixing with cream and broken glass
the babysitter's first day on the job,
the horrified, penitent babysitter--
My mother came from work,
hugged the shaking woman,
told her she still had a job--
told me, from across the room,
"Stop crying, you'll be fine."
No hug. Another scar.
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