knowing two

Pink scars against delicate,
Ever so delicate skin.

Brought on by horrors I
Cannot comprehend–
Or all too real know.

And yet there is that worry,
That I’m slowly losing
A friend I could never
Hold to.

She climbs on the swings,
Higher and higher and higher.
I slow down–

And look at those
Pink scars against delicate,
Ever so delicate skin.

for and about kate bieschke