Scars
Here we are, still breathing...
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
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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I love this, thank you Sean.
Brilliant in metaphor and tone.