For years she scratched the surface, 

Of old wounds and scabs,

And in time they festered – 

And got worse, opening up, 

New depths of pain and despair. 

‘We can’t live with anger’ I said;

And she came to let go, 

Of all that hounded and haunted her, 

Open wounds came to heal, 

Mere marks of a different time, 

And now I watch her  scratch, 

Below the surface, and all that opens up, 

Is the life in front of her. 

Kevin Brown © 21.11.2016