Wounded

Today’s post is my response to the Writer’s Book of Days topic from this morning. The Lesson from the original edition changed to Desks and Spaces … creating your own writing space.

“The requirement of any writing space is that it disappears from the mind’s eye of the inhabitant.” ~ John Updike ~

Today’s topic is — Write about a wound:

Oh my…for the much wounded, this writing practice could become a novel. However, with my personal vow to say more with fewer words, I will choose only one wound from my long life.

The most memorable wound happened when I was a 3rd grade student. To this day, I carry not only the scar, but a pieced of pencil lead as a reminder of the day.
In addition to the normal hills, valleys, and rivers on my right palm, there is a very distinctive scar toward the bottom left area of my hand. Children collect scars as part of their daily lives…some are seen while others remain hidden. This scar is a result of that inattention children so often exhibit when in a rush. It came about because I was late for my music lesson (yes, we were able to leave campus during the day for private music lessons 2-3 times a week). I put away all my books and papers and realized at the last-minute my pencil was still laughing at me from atop my desk. Quickly grabbing it, I aimed the pencil into the top desk compartment, giving it that final shove. Unfortunately, rather than the eraser end I was expecting next to my palm, the oh so just sharpened lead met my skin and kept going (do you see what is coming next?).
Yes, this was my first “piercing” experience. My hand came away with the pencil sticking arrow straight into the air firmly rooted in my skin. I don’t remember making a noise, but I ‘m sure some sound of pain was shared. Attempting to “un – impale” this new instrument of torture, the lead broke off in the wound. Instead of my music lesson, a trip to the clinic was top priority.

Minor surgery, lead removed, bleeding stopped and hand bandaged, I went back to class. Days later when the bandage was gone and the scab washed away during bath time, a pink scar with a dark center resided in the wound’s place. My first thought was how my hand mirrored the scar on my Dad’s eye. He had a similar pencil mishap at the hands of one of his siblings.

That scar is still very visible to this day. I have no idea if the dark spot is a tiny piece of pencil lead still encased in the scar or … just a marking left when the lead was removed and the would not cleaned well. This is a daily reminder of my childhood carelessness.

No Musical Muse as the Writing Practice was done while I ate my lunch.

Poetry response to Wounded:

My body, bruised, battered, bleeding, stripped raw~was healed by your gentle love~wrapping me in wings of hope.

UPDATE: after reading Lesism’s Desiderata post this morning, I decided that is the perfect musical rendition to go with this post.

 

Copyright © 2013 Annie – Original Nonfiction
Always…I wish you peace, joy and happiness, but most of all I wish you Love.
As Ever, Annie

Originally Published 1/10/2013

 

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