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