SCARS

​

~Evelyn Miller 

​

When the bugs started biting

I must have been 8 or 9.

When the grass was no longer soft

And the ant hills turned into land mines.

 

I stopped climbing trees

For I learned cautious discretion

But the scars on my knees

Remind me of who I used to be

before I learned those lessons.

 

At ten I learned that they are

more afraid of me than I am of them--

Still the bites hurt the same

But went away like friend after friend.

 

And I still find moths every time I light a flame.

I hated the way they spread across the screen door.

I thought of them as nothing more than an eye sore,

But as I grow older I find moths a beauty and

what sets them apart is merely the time they fly

And what planets there are in the sky.