Signs of Life
There are a
multitude of scars.
My legs bore
the brunt of
a variety of falls
or angry branches
that didn't want
to get pushed away
and snapped back
to leave a scratch.
One heel met the spokes
of a bicycle wheel.
A softball gave
my upper lip a kiss.
My hands and arms
are speckled with
marks where they
barely touched irons,
oven racks and pots.
I remember the pain
felt at all of the spots,
but I also know
how they healed.
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