Scars

Here we are, still breathing...

Photo by Elena Ivanov on Unsplash

Scars

every mark on this body
     is a small victory
          over the myth
     that we’re meant to stay
          unmarked

the raised line
     across my palm
          from the July afternoon 
I thought I could tame 
     believed I needed to tame
          a pony filled with tornadoes
               with nothing but a rope
          still teaches me
     about letting go

and this invisible canyon
     carved through my chest
          where love once lived
     before it learned
          to leave
               now shelters 
                  a deeper love

remember

     the mind keeps its own
          topography of damage
     maps every place
          we almost didn’t
               make it through but

          here we are
     still breathing
          still becoming
               something more interesting
     than we were
          before we broke

your scars are not
     proof of your failure
          they are coordinates
     showing exactly where
          you refused
               to disappear

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Sean Downing, poet, musician, teaches high school English and Theater Arts in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. He can often be found in his woodshop, coaxing music from odd scraps of junk, or haunting the trout streams around southwest Colorado. If you see him, don’t tell anyone: they’re probably looking to get an honest day’s work out of him.

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