your original scar

You were born with a forceps slip,
missed your blind eye, by a blink.
A hello gash, and then the light;

the first slice, slashed
from your raw face.
That bloody newborn mark

lit up your perfection
and with the weeks was bleached
to your own, branding scar.

A pearly dent, of half an inch
in length, only clear to the eye
in harsh light, or when looking.

In your scar, I read protection,
as if your worst occurred
before your pure self emerged,
and bound, to a healing future.