WOUNDS
paper cuts, puppy teeth,
scratches on the knee,
slivers, stings, surgeries
for appendectomies,
unmet expectations,
unkind words, a broken heart
some will heal with Band-Aids
the tough ones leave a scar
©2022, Patricia J. Franz
I was the young mother that always underplayed injuries. The two things that got my attention were bleeding and not breathing; and the bleeding had to be copious. Otherwise, it was, “Go wash it off, it’ll be fine.”
One of my sons sports a comma-sized scar above his left eyebrow. As a three-year-old, he tried to wake me in the middle of the night, and I insisted –in my state of half-sleep-eyes-closed– that he return to bed (believe me, there was a history of I can’t sleeps that precipitated my response). I found him the next morning with a line of dry blood staining his little face from brow to cheek. He had fallen out of bed and hit the corner of his nightstand (not one of my prouder mom-moments).
He healed nicely. He’s 30 and enjoys ribbing me (a la Danny Kaye’s character in White Christmas). The emotional scar is mine: a mark of humility – maybe mom does not always know best?
All this is to say that I’ve been thinking about woundedness, and what we carry with us, how our scars – and the wounds that still fester — shape us. A scar could be a conversation-starter – How did that happen? But how do we talk about the hidden wounds, the ones that have yet to heal? What do we do with those?
Rose gave our Nevermores poetry partners a prompt to borrow a line from another poet. I chose Alberto Rios’ “Border Boy,” from Not go away is my name (2020, Copper Canyon Press). The line I borrowed (asterisked in my poem below) is:
A scar is the place where the hurting use to be.
BORDER BOY (by Alberto Rios)
I grew up on the border and though I left
I have brought it with me wherever I’ve gone.
Its line guides me, this long, winding thread of memory.
The border wasn’t as big as they say—
My friend and one of my NEVERMORES poetry partners, Rose Cappelli at Imagine the Possibilities hosts the roundup this week!
Patricia Franz is a kidlit writer and published poet. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
Such a poignant, thought provoking post! “Disillusion” certainly packs an emotional punch. Also enjoyed the anecdote about your son (poor guy)!
Thanks, Jama.
I have a scar with a memory, Patricia, but that’s for another time. I expect each of us has some ‘body’ scars but you caught me when you asked, “What do we do with those?” This poem feels like a hurt you’ve caught yourself, empathizing with those who are in terrible need? It’s both lovely and so, so sad to ponder some who take the picture down.
Thanks, Linda. Isn’t it incredible where another poet’s line can take us?
I really love this powerful poem. My mom also used to brush off minor injuries (especially with my brother). He woke her up in the middle of the night and she brushed him off until my dad turned on the light and blood was everywhere. He’d also fallen and needed stitches. It took her a bit. 🙂 She still gets teased about it.
I am so glad to know I was not the only bad mommy! wink-wink
Such a powerful poem, Patricia. I love how you let one thought lead to another, and then that powerful ending – wow. So thought provoking.
Thank you, Rose. And thank you for hosting this week!
Patricia, both poems provoke much thought and reflection. Scars are always attached to stories and memories of events. They also serve to remind us of the associated pain and disappointment which cannot be erased, even though the physical scar may fade. The interconnectedness of your thoughts was a powerful feature of your writing. It so impressed me, I reread it several times. Your certainly brought your best words to this space when writing about scars.
Thank you, Alan. Like scars, the poem reflects a work-in-process.
Reflective and beautiful. This is a poem that makes me think of where I see scars, types of scars, and how the past is linked to now. What a wonderful piece in conversation with another poet. You make me want to give this a try!
Thank you, Linda. We have Rose to thank for the prompt. But I do love the freedom to engage in “conversation” as you say, with other poets using this approach. I had no idea where the line would lead.
Wow! Your poem (and motherhood story) hit home for me. I have a new scar from a Mohs procedure on my nose (for skin cancer), and it bothers me more than it should, more than others can even see. I need to explore these deep feelings. “The scar reminds me: take the picture down.” I will. Someday.
Thank you, Margaret. Sigh… I’m afraid we are at that age when our bodies are walking billboards of the life choices we have made. I’m working on taking lots of pictures off walls, but seeing it in a good way.
WOW! This whole post – just wow! Border Boy came into my email recently. I am so glad you took a line from it – so much to think about in that poem and yours. Well done!
Thank you, Marilyn. I’m sure we saw it from the same daily Poetry Foundation post. It remained with me, and then Rose (a poetry partner in The Nevermores) suggested the prompt. So it became “a conversation” I suppose.
Patricia–Wow. This is an eloquent poem. “The hurt is where the hoping seeped away.” Yes. I have a similar not-proud moment from when our youngest fell against a deck stair. I didn’t realize she probably needed stitches–and she has a scar in her eyebrow to prove it. :>( Hugs on all our imperfect motherhood moments!
Whew! So glad to hear I’m not alone! Thanks Laura.
Ah, the scars of both childhood and motherhood! (And sisterhood, marriage, friendship, the list goes on.)
“Wounds” really got me (“unmet expectations/unkind words, a broken heart” — ack!) and you also really got me with the progression from scar to hurt to hope to dream, to the picture that needs to be put away. Sad and lovely.
Thanks, Karen. Hoping we find that scars mean healing, too.