Poem: Scars

When I was nine
I chased
A soccer ball
Onto pavement
Focused only
On catching it.
Did not see
The basketball
Escape the older kids
Playing on the court.
First I knew of it
Was when
It bounced off my head
Lifted me
All of four feet tall
Off the ground
Into the air.
Glasses flew off my face
I hovered a moment
Before I came
Crashing down.
Left wrist bent
I lay still
As the crowd gathered ‘round.
Finally stood up
Saw horror
In the faces around me.
My face was scraped
Raw and red
As was my left hand and wrist.
Still have the scar
On the back
Of my left hand and wrist
Seventeen years later.
Isn’t that the perfect metaphor
For being so focused on the goal
That I fail to see
What’s all around me?
Constant reminder
Not to do that again.
Have another scar
Forming on my right hand.
Got it
From being so afraid
Of disapproval of others
That I refused
To defend myself
From the bite of a puppy.
Fear of disapproval
Led to refusal to defend justly from harm.
There’s lessons to be learned
In our scars.