Stark white scar against my dappled skin,
Reminds me of days spent with him and
Kool-Aid stands,
Driveway Monopoly,
Garden adventures laden with strawberries and tomatoes.
One particular rainy day, I reached into my closet
In search of a quiet inside game.
Instead
Raw nail, old nautical mural which my Mother deemed unacceptable for viewing,
Injured girl
Bleeding a trail from that dark closet.
The picture hidden and dangerous
Just like his secret love for me.
He weathered the wound of my later refusal
Our ships passing farther apart than my Mother’s
muted mural recommended.
No Band-Aid large enough to cover my “No”
He sought his balm later in a Florida cult.
Deeper search, redder blood.
I wonder about the white of his scar.
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