Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2020  Vol. 19 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Scar 21

The scar on my brow was a third eye
once, and I gave the stranger my wallet,
and he took with it my school ID.
Just why he cut me, I will never know.
I was such a tiny motherfucker
and a motherfucker’s precious stone,
and though the cut was just a minor then,
it ran into the cradle of my eye.
It will always be that small, this cut.
It will always flinch at the stiletto
click of branches broken in the wind.
When I open a lamp, I open a well.
When I close, it closes, and the well
of light, because it is abandoned, grows.  

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