Scars Poem by Gabriella Grace

They are the short stories of the flesh,
can envoke the entire event
in a moment-the action, the scent
and sound-place you there a second time.

It's as if the flesh decides to hold
onto what threatens its well-being,
They become part of a map marking
the pain we've had to endure.

If only the heart were so ruthless,
willing to document what lived
by branding even those sensitive
tissue so information might flow back.

It's easy to recall what doesn't heal
more difficult to call back what leaves
no mark, what depends on memory
to bring forward what's been gone so long,

The heart's too gentle. It won't hold
before us what we may still need to see.