I’ll be offline after Tuesday for a few days. See you hopefully at the very end of the week. Snuck this in for dverse Haibun prompt Monday.)
(Spring, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2009, watercolor)
Scars are a roadmap of life. Each scar is a badge of some painful event and we wear them whether we want them or not. Knees are fraught with badges, at least mine are. One, a white puckered scar about the size of a small fingernail was pinned on my knee when I was four. I remember a sidewalk, it was autumn, and apartment buildings, maybe a century old, looming over me. I remember rust colors, so it must have been autumn. I remember the color red. That was pain. That was blood. You don’t get these badges without the sacrifice of skin and blood. I was wearing a dress, a pinafore, because little girls didn’t wear jeans back then. They wore cotton dresses with petticoats and cotton drawers. Roller skates were the invitation for this scar and that little girls had no protection from concrete made it unavoidable. The concrete was a grating machine, oiled by the pain of little children and stretching for blocks. There was an old Jewish couple who would meet me under the draping pine trees with a Hershey bar every morning like it was my birthday! I was only four years old, but I lived for that candy. They had escaped Nazi Germany by selling off everything, yet every morning they were dressed formally, suit and tie and such lovely dresses, showing such kindness to a mere child. I still remember that gut-drawing pain of that rusty morning. I tap the scar and know I have survived childhood. The Hershey bars helped.
Swirling winds of fall
Knees like white bones flashing
Modesty is gone.