The First Time and Other Poems


The First Time

the stitches
were novel;
at recess
I showed them off
like a temporary tattoo.
I let the other kids run
their fingers down
my fresh scar and told
them doctors took
the ear clean off.
I missed the call to line
up, and in
detention for tardiness
I wrote, I’m not
sorry for showing my scar

as if I knew to be proud
of survival. I told kids
I didn’t feel a thing
there anymore, but
it was a lie; it was
my most alive part.
No longer
working for me
but still of me.
Always a cacophony,
the sounds of healing
but not of hearing.

After

This is a premium subscription story. Please make a $4 donation to access the individual story or a $50 donation to access all the stories in Narrative Backstage for a period of one year.

If you are already a user, but not yet logged in, you may login here.
If you are new to Narrative, signing up is FREE and easy.