Memory, Finely Mended

The past is nonexistent
Like the roots of a tree

But once erosion carries away
a measure of the soil
there they are, laid bare

Often we decide to look away
from the past, from pain

It’s an understandable wish
that the soreness and terror
never be re-lived

Yet when we fail to resolve
our wounds with a fine stitching
they heal with a jagged scar,
one hard to look away from

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