When the Wound Reopens – a poem by Elizabeth Bolton

When the Wound Reopens

I am every person I have ever hated;
this is the great trick You pulled on me
who thought I spat my bitterness away
but only spat on a mirror.
When the wound reopens
music is mockery;
the songs I once sang along to
laugh hardest of all.
When the wound reopens
beauty – the urge for it – has flown off
and I do not now
nor have I ever had wings to follow.
When the wound reopens
poems do nothing: I both understand
and hate the girl who wrote them.

When the wound reopens
I forget here
I think of there
I think of rain, the smell of it
in a foreign country and it tortures me
how little I knew of pain
when cold sodden feet
forced to stop in an ice cream shop
were enough to ruin the day.

When the wound reopens
You come pouring in
and I must sift through silt –
the glittering dark powder
into which Your light is fused.

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Elizabeth Bolton is a doctoral student at the University of Toronto where she researches poetic literacy practice and education. Her stories and poems have appeared in Existere, Open Minds Quarterly, EVENT and Mothers Always Write. You can find her on Instagram: @elizabethboltonwriting.