Consider This Poem by Nellie Isabelle Steward Cooper

There is no use to consider
The color of pain
Of any use,
Yes to look at the jib of the cut
And the swelling blood-drops

And feel the edge of the cut
And the warm stickiness
And the body-faintness

Yes-and to consider antiseptics

Perhaps and bandages
And dwell a little on how
With such a wound

One can live-around
About on the edges of it
till it heals:

These things are healing in
themselves to think of

But to consider the color
of the pain
The stance of the wounder
and the act of wounding

To dwell in the hurt like an
animal condemned

This is a grave sickness that
torments to the death

Like abuse unattended:
What does it matter to you if
the knife was

Concealed or open or if you were
laid low by friend or enemy?

Or the details, time, place, songs
playing, special - nuances?

Scream, whimper, swear
if you must

At the wound, though
Always at the wound

Never the wounder or
the wounding