What's Another Scar?

The scar in the sharp incline of my knee

Stitched within the thin flesh atop my irregular bone

Is still raised as if a sewing needle was fished through my skin

But it’s faded just enough to mark its origins

On a timeline of a past millennium

I got this scar in a moment of acting my age

No taller than the aubergine irises that lined the outside wall of the garage

I didn’t give it any thought

I just launched myself onto the swing

Stomach first

And soared with my arms stretched as far as they could go

The breeze that rushed my face with each sway

Robbed me of breath and kept me coming back for more

Introducing me to my first dose of pleasure from pain

Lost in myself and the rhythm of feet pushing off ground and throwing my body forward

I didn’t think to keep my guard up

Not really sure if I knew I had a guard

And the treacherous swing released me from its grip

Head first

Into the rock garden that always gave me such joy in early March

When carpeted in amethyst crocus

But on that day the jagged edged rocks weren’t softened by growth

They were harsh in the manner they handled me

Striking my head, tearing into my palms, stabbing my knee  

And thoughtful in the flecks of silver and gold they gifted me

Shimmering in and around my wounds

A rip in my hand spilled blood that trailed to my wrist

Droplets soaking my DNA into the soil

And I raised the wound to my lips

Tasting the blood with the tip of my tongue

Gently sucking to stop the flow

It felt wrong and nurturing

To taste and soothe the gap to my hidden self  

The swing broke my trust that day, the rocks my skin

I never soared again

I sat from that day on, pumping and kicking

My back to the cold stone

Some things are sacred and won’t ever be washed in grey

My trust being one

But I can’t find fault with the joy born within my new view

Feeling the tickle in my stomach with each steep sway

The tall oak begging for my toes to tickle its leaves

The scar I swirl with my finger tip

When a flesh ripping idea gets in my head

And I think to myself

What’s another scar?

E.A. O'Connell