Invisible Scars (Poem)

Invisible Scars

They've come back from war
but the fighting's not over.

They visit it in dreams, their
mind's eye replaying it all:

how the speeding car pulls
up, brakes burning, driver's

cell phone in hand, pressing
the single digit that renders

the morning's market buys
un-totaled, the black abayas

a flutter of shredded threads.

Later they will have tattooed
prosthetics, tell their pretty

blonde nurses where to look
for lost and longed-for pieces.

© 2017 Maureen E. Doallas