Poetry: Cursing at Jaywalkers

Three girls, sitting on a bench

Cursing at jaywalkers

 

Don’t they see

The danger

That could come roaring

Out of the small-town darkness?

 

Why do they risk it?

Don’t they know that

Bad things happen?

Even here.

Even to the best of us.

Even to the strongest of us, the bravest of us.

 

They are asking for the pain

The three girls already feel

And the insult is too much

To watch silently

Poetry: Scarred

She is in love with scars

That come with stories:

The fall when you were a kid

The bar fight you got into in college

The morning when you burned yourself cooking breakfast for the kids

Those never-healed blisters from dance shoes and hiking boots

 

She was never brave enough

To risk falling

To risk failing

She was never bold enough

To dance

Or fall in love

Always afraid of getting hurt

Afraid of getting close to anyone who would eventually slip away

 

And now, looking back,

She wishes she had scars.