THE CONFIRMATION

When the gauze was lifted
from the nondescript wound

above my mother’s lip
the surgeon 

had been working on 
all day, the imprint

left there

in no way 

 

resembled the shape 

of the open sore

it came from. Instead

it looked every bit 

like a tiny heart,

which was confirmation 

enough for me,

that every wound

was really a gift 

and a blessing in disguise.