scabs scabs, this is all i have left

“Oh, God—did I just say that? It must be the scar speaking of me, through me,
with or without the permission of my long-hurt heart.” —George Kalamaras

Yes, God, I hear you.

Daughter, I know you hear me, but are you listening?

The tsunami is coming daughter. The waters have receded and you are standing on muddy ground. Your scarred feet are not healing in the gooey reservoir your feet are now glued in. Do you not notice the mud turning to dry ground around your ankles after all your fallen tears. You cannot run anymore. Even your tears leave your feet. They cannot stay to soothe the scabs because you do not listen to their drops, to their lingering upon your cheek, to their taste upon your tongue. You have given them no choice but to escape the scabs you attach to scabs. Your tears have become silent to you. You need not stand in dry ground to drown in the rush, if you would only listen.

Daughter, listen closely. The tsunami is coming. Your tears knew when they would return. You will die only for a short time. I am here to lift you out. Just reach up. I have heard your crying, but you have not listened to me. The scabs are deep and you have attached hope in the wrong place. The walls of tears are coming back to drown you, for a bit, but stroke up, stroke hard, do not sob anymore, break the surface, my daughter, I am here waiting to grab your hand so you will not be washed out with the scabs.