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.