Needs Time

The wound needs a day,
a week,
a purpose beyond shelving agony
and all the ways a bad memory can manifest.

The wound needs time
to go from aching flesh
to a flattened leaf
pressed firmly under tyre tracks,
its veins, a whisper of the life it once knew.

The wound needs air
to move beyond your body,
unfolding in the open,
no longer curling into a name,
a place you dare not return

Ready to be on display
the wound is a small badge,
barely resembling the crater of pain
it began

They see the badge,
and never really know you walked through fire.

Or

They never see the badge,
and never really know
you walked through fire