The Nose on My Knee

We went for a walk.
I remember the cattle guards lining the sides of the road:
every driveway,
every entrance.
I never saw a cow on the road.
They must work.

We were walking home.
I tripped and fell.
I’ve always been clumsy like that.
A rock pierced my knee.
My mother carried me the rest of the way home.
All the way home.
I stared at my leg
and the blood trickled down.
All the way down.
I wasn’t wearing socks.
I stared at the tongue of my shoe:
one red stain at the center.
Such a straight line of blood
all the way down
my leg.

I’d never seen
so much of my own blood.

I still have the scar.

It looks like a nose.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s