← v19n2, Fall 2020
Poetry · Volume 19, Number 2

Scar 26

When a bone breaks, it could be worse.

You could go numb with shock and say, it could

be worse. You might shiver from the jaws

of life, your heart gone racing in the wild.

The rubied beacon on the hook and ladder,

the medical mask, you see them now as props

in a movie where every victim is you. You

feel their pain and know it as theirs alone.

The sudden announcement of your ligament

and spleen, it stupefies. Sobers. Binds.

When a body breaks, a stranger comes forward

from the theater dark. The movie ends,

life begins. A man leans his face to yours

to ask. How many fingers. What’s your name.