By Dena Dillon
Oh yes, I know it shows;
the scar on my leg from Osteo
when I was five years old
I tend to forget it’s there,
until someone like you reminds me.
I suppose you don’t have scars.
Hey, Hole Leg!
I wore my cheerleader skirt,
walking to the game with my friends. Yes, I had friends,
even with my Hole Leg.
Hey, hey, we’re on a Roll! Hey, Hole Leg,
You’ve got to go!
Embarrassed, I paused; unsure.
Did you see me falter – the crack in my confidence?
Is that what you need to feel more whole than me?
You can’t read the story on this stitch-scarred skin,
with your illiterate incapacity o care; frightened
by flaw you can’t comprehend.
Hey, Hey, Hole Leg
Way to Go, Whole Egg!
This fragile armor offers little defense,
but beneath it, a strong, resilient sheath
encases my expectant faith.
My heart will stay soft, like a yolk
unscathed; not hard boiled or spoiled
by your words that aim to wound.
Though your insults spilt my surface,
you will not see me ooze, or lose my will
to forgive and love, in spite of you.
You may have no flaws that I can see,
but you may also have no yolk;
just an albumen scar on your memory.
I am a Whole Egg, a Mighty, Mighty Whole Egg!