A Momentary Wound
Even now, the triggers thrive,
those unexpected bursts of mourning and anger and hurt,
those snippets of ancient history,
still with their barbs,
still with their ability to make you bleed.
but not to bleed out.
No, those days are gone.
The doctors have done their work.
You have done your work,
and today, you heal as quickly as you bleed,
a momentary wound, no more.
Still, it always surprises you.
It has become rare.
Powerful still when it erupts with all the ferocity
of the original attempts at murder,
almost mind you, as overwhelming,
but only for a moment,
a phantom pain of limbs long removed
and then you suddenly remember.
You remember the healing.
that history is history
and nothing more
And then, like the miracle it is,
the pain disappears
and you are you again,
far from invincible,
farther still from dead.
About this poem
Last night, watching a mystery on TV, an old wound was unexpectedly opened. It hurt. It passed. That’s the way of old wounds.
The picture was taken in Botetourt County, Virginia.