Before He Had Healed
Nov 20th, 1998 by Dawn Hogue
She watched him
pull off the old Band-Aid,
not quickly so it wouldn’t hurt,
but slowly, over weeks,
each unavoidable tug
done as she watched
his vulnerability being torn away
with hair and skin.
The wound had needed more care
than he had given it though—
she could see that, and through
her eyes he came to know it, too.
As the gash bled anew,
as the wound reopened to view,
he wanted to cover it again,
he wanted for her to never
have seen into his pain.
As impossible as rewinding time,
as impossible as protection from
arrows in the heart,
nails at the throat,
screams in the ear
when betrayal cuts and trust dies.
As impossible as learning again
to love, to let in the tender,
honest salve of a kind word
when healing demands
time and solitude.
d hogue, 11/20/98
