there’s a scar at the edge
of your eyebrow
where your forehead
starts to curve
right where strands
of dark hair fall like
silk curtains.
I like to follow it
drawing lines across
your face
to the corners of your lips.
their movements make me anxious,
so I focus on the scar.
the little ridges it makes
when you squint to focus
remind me that you
and I are so alike.
it’s easy to forget since
I’m thick golden brown
and you’re pale milk cream
save the marred bit
near your crease.
you told me
you had fallen-
a tree, I think.
maybe a bike?
either way
our culpability
is questionable
but our awkward grace
is undeniable.
and I find myself in that.
we are tectonic plates
drifting into
each other,
fitting together,
forcibly and inevitably
ever so slowly.
like the ridges in a scar
worn down into skin with time.

– Sheila Sea

33 thoughts on “ridges

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