Scar Poem

by Jen Coleman

Don't think I don't know
how your cells remember
even after regeneration

seven years and more,
how even the sun

can't toughen them, how
your ramparts guard
the glistening whites

that filled the unnamed gap,
solidified there, itch still—

how you're walking wounded
behind the hanging weight
of your silver necklace and soldier

surreptitious through social
days, how you talk

to cover the silence you fear
will otherwise close in,
how wrong you are when

you think I won't
mitigate, but vivisect.

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