All the Scars
by John Tustin
He felt the pretty girl’s finger run along the scar on his wrist
from that time he put his fist
through the glass door pane
after his wife (now ex-wife) left the door open on purpose
so the kitten would get out
And the pretty girl told him about something terrible that happened to her
when she was just thirteen
He felt her tears pasting down the hair on his chest
where her face pressed
And she kept tracing her finger on that scar on his wrist
She is still living that hour she lived when she was thirteen
Moment by moment
while he pretends now the scar her finger was tracing
is no longer there
or any of the other scars either
And when she tells him the whole story she looks up at him and
just for a moment
he knows her almost completely
This pretty girl with pale green eyes
shimmering tears
as the scar on his left wrist pulsated
In the darkness of two lovers
in such a lovely contiguous repose
Their hearts and bodies replete with all the scars
Their bodies –
one likely closer
one likely farther from death
They kissed in their tears and then
he scratched the rash on his armpit
given to him by the sun
that just never stops coming up
—
John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many literary journals, online and in print, since he began to write again and submit them a decade ago. He is currently suffering in exile on Elba but hopes to return to you soon. The following contains links to his poetry online: fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry