It stings

old wooden boards
Photo by Kaboompics .com on Pexels.com

I once had a splinter of wood deep
in the tip of my thumb.

I thought it healed.
But pain continued
where the conniving shard had been.

Red, tender flesh pushed up like play-dough
pressed through a hole in a toy.

This wart-looking-thing festered
bled and hurt so bad,
I sought a doctor.

The doctor diagnosed it: granuloma.
“It’s probably some foreign body
that got under your skin.
It may be a thorn, that caused this.”

I thought the thorn was gone.
Healed.
But it rises, raw and tender
and makes it hard to hug.

Betrayal may be the thorn that never stops festering.
It may be the scar
spontaneously
emerging
painful
and sensitive.
It stings.

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