That first surgery wasn’t one.
There stood mother, all I feared.
After the fall I checked the wound,
And left it in the mirror’s memory.
I never made it all the way round morning.
Sometimes noon would take till midnight.
I hardly dared laugh. And by the time
They extracted all the shards
The shadow was already climbing high
Up the houses and the ten horse-chestnuts.
The evening was as fresh as the scar,
And a few more things no longer mine.