Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Blood Roses

Blood Roses

You know me, friend,
but you do not.
You do not see the bruises
like mottled flowers just beneath
the skin, blood roses blooming
in all the places where he
pushed and pressed and jabbed. 

They are invisible to you,
but I feel them sometimes swell
and throb when I remember:
In the numbness of a cheek,
the ache of a shoulder, or
a stabbing right through
the middle of me.

Pieces of memory like
broken glass,
that press into me
when I try to move

and break free.