Tonight's Poet Corner: Trauma

Trauma
by Belinda Roddie

When in direct sunlight,
her scars glow
like gold, dust streaking
old pans in rivers, where
prospectors used to have dreams.

She counts the blemishes
like the beads in her necklace,
which she made in second grade
for her mother, something bright
when the chemo turned everything gray.

When I ask her if there's anything
she'd like to tell me, she reminds me
that she has too many stories in
her mental archives, and if she
pulls a book out of its shoddy shelf,
she risk the entire thing crumbling.