Birthmarks
Birthmarks,
unique identifying signs,
cover our walls.
Scuffs, scars, scribbles,
fingerprints, nicks.
Randomly appearing after
marking the birth of our son.
Would I trade those pocked surfaces
for pristine blank spaces?
No. The memories of that little boy
becoming a young man is the story
those walls tell.
A narrative in which “The End” came too soon.
Deathmarks? No one talks about them.
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