Rooms, Windows and Doors

Wounds wide as doorways
open as if waiting to
welcome in
who we were once
the smooth innocence
of new skin
finding only the ghosts of
who we are now
scabs picked torn and raw
our aging flesh, rough,
weathered, branded and forever
marred by the jaggedness
of the dark and the heavy
imprint of shadows
that return us
to the warm flow
of razor's edge
the sticky comfort
of the blade
that always knows
just who we
are not

Debbie Berk