Teemings
The E-Zine of the Straight Dope Community

The Scars of Flying

by DAVEW0071

Small and white,
The scar cuts across my palm.
My life line is interrupted,
Severed at age nine in an attempt
To fly.

Fourth grade recess.
My friends and I
Swinging...
Leaping...
Soaring high.
Landing on all fours in the
Soft grass,
Unmindful that its sweet blades hide
Sharp glass.
I didn't even feel it cut me.
My friend pointed out my
Wounded, bleeding hand.

Now,
Three decades later
And more,
I well understand the dangers in life.
I look before
I leap.
I desire no new scars
Beside my old.
But my heart,
My soul,
Tell me to fly...
Tell me to try...
Tell me wounds heal...
Tell me scars never bleed.
So, without stopping to consider the cost,
I stretch out my hand
And reach for the clouds.