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Poem
I had seen the train leave the station
I had said goodbye, for the last time
A cold day in autumn, I decided to do some cleaning
Putting summer away, preparing for winter
I found a grey woolen hat, a hat she had used.
The scent, it was like holding her
Red strains of hair, relit the flame
The flame still lingering
I could have learned to play 12 bar blues, that day
I went for a walk
I passed the fire station.
Not all fires can be extinguished.
That smell, still drove me slightly mad.
That smell; like touching a scar

A scar from better times

*

Early evening
I took the metro
I looked around: Two boys, one girl
Italian, well dressed
The girl had straight facial features
The girl had golden, brown hair
The girl had red lipstick
The girl had brown eyes
The girl had a scar
Left cheek; horizontal; long
From the right side she was very pretty
It looked like it was made with a sharp knife
It looked like it was made on purpose
I saw a story
I didn’t see the story
I saw other passengers look twice
She might have been a victim
She might have been the winner
From the left side she fascinated me
She carried a expression of confidence
The boys had placed themselves at her right side

A scar, so visible

*

Lightning and thunder.
A large armchair. Me and a little black cat.
Heavy rain. Rain hitting the windows. 
Rain hitting the metal handrail on the porch.
I read a book. I had to stop reading it.
Some stories hit you. This story hit me like a fist to my belly. Hard.
Some stories hit you like a fist, a fist hitting a soft spot.
Some stories are difficult to carry. Some stories are hard to tell.
Some stories scare you. Some stories leave scars. 
Some stories hit you, so hard.
This was a story; like that
I had to put the book down
A girl once told me a story
A story like that
It was painful, to listen to her
It was painful, just listening to
A store I have promised, not to tell
A scar that is hard to see
 A scar that is hard to live with
A psychic wound

A scar, invisible
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