The Scar

 I sucked air between my teeth in a hiss, 

not wanting to wake my husband, 

but wanting the pain to stop. 

I had been in the midst of a dream, 

but I couldn’t remember it. 

I grabbed my wrist 

and felt it was hot and slick 

with what could only be blood. 

I jumped out of bed,

stumbled to the bathroom,

flipped on the light, 

and saw a small, deep wound.

My nails were trimmed short, 

so I stared in disbelief.  
 

I am not prone to sleeping with sharp objects. 

What made me do this? 

Was I in the middle of a terrifying dream, 

desperate to remove something 

dangerous from my arm? 

The small white scar on my wrist 

is a reminder of that strange night 

and that maybe it’s a good thing 

we can’t always remember our dreams.