_{They tell how it was, and how time
                        came along, and how it happened
                        again and again. They tell
                        the slant life takes when it turns
                        and slashes your face as a friend.
                                          –William Stafford, “Scars”}

We don’t talk about them much.
We hide scars under shirt sleeves,
behind placid masks, bravely mime
false intentions, pseudo-acceptance,
while stimming when unnerved
by an untoward gaze, micro-crime
by intent or inadvertence. They
tell how it was, and how time

cannot erase­­—but maybe fade—
events captured hard in our bodies,
minds, despite attempts to defend
against the sudden arrival of phantoms.
Unique to each of us through life lived,
this curious circuitry may resend
signals, revive memories of how they
came along, and how it happened.

Sometimes they burrow so deep
they’re hidden even from ourselves.
With effort we may plumb this well,
pour out in tears of sorrow, anger, pain,
let them evaporate in the sun,
until our unburdened hearts swell
with relief. We congratulate ourselves
again and again. They tell

a different story when we control
the flow, if not the timing. Jerk!
Awkward glance the interactor learns,
if astute, some crossed inner tripwire
causes us to pause, retreat inward:
a bright reconstruction circuit burns.
With practice we learn to alter
the slant life takes when it turns.

We feel a shock of recognition.
That leap, a cascade that would pile
trauma upon trauma, would send
us where we do not want to flow.
Breathe deep. Ground the electricity.
We can now make a quick end
to that danger, when life blips
and slashes your face as a friend.

Jeanne Blum Lesinski is a poet and prose writer whose works have appeared in journals, anthologies, lifestyle magazines, and online. Her poetry collection Tethers End is forthcoming from Shanti Arts. When not at her computer, she often escapes to a bicycle path, a garden, or a good read.