You see the crack in the cup,
the jagged scar like lightning piercing stormy sky.
Fingers trace the lines etched from collision
of counter and ceramic and stone.
But it holds still, my coffee steaming,
and I remember how beautiful are scars that tell a story
for I like the way you tell it, the untwisting of
truth until it straightens out
and it is all I ever see.
—jennifer j. camp
This post appeared originally at jenniferjcamp.com
