Kintsugi
Wednesday Prose Poem Prompt: What wounds look like as they heal
Embers of a not so distant past glow through my skin
so bright, I turn my head away
as with the sea that ebbs and flows on the behest of the moon
so is trauma, that surges and subsides on my heart’s bidding
I go back sometimes to the surgical table to rehash the memory
helpless, lying exposed to prying hands that want to set me free
the morning after, drugged and stoned, I am handed a piece of me -
gnarled tissue in a wee bottle — ‘a souvenir’, I’m informed, rather earnestly
As I recount those moments, I run my finger over the bumpy scar resembling a tight lipped child, stern and stubborn, refusing to let a smile escape
and I wonder -
how a scar is a reminder of pain and of healing too
but what of the unseen bits of broken me that lie
scattered, crushed, unloved?
Those …those I’ve carefully collected over the years
bandaged with gold and laced with love
like the Japanese do -
and when I’m down and out, I rise again
dazzling in all my brokenness
showing the world
my gorgeous golden cracks
