If I could find them
I would
But there are no tracks
They penetrate
Past the marrow
To the soul
They’re not raised
White welts
Red or linear
But go deeper
Beyond the flesh
Of your interior
You’re a stitched-up
Rag doll
Broken and scarred
And I love you
Because
Of what you are
Like the marks
On your belly
Our children left
Your beauty
Leaves
Me desolate
All I give you
Is scarred…
Even this poem
And though the pain
is yours
The guilt is my own.
