Old Wounds

When I was younger 
I had a little red fire engine
That went clang, clang, clang
As it rolled across the carpet.
The brave men would jump out 
And always put out the fire.
I remember this time because
I would cry when I skinned my knee
Instead of crying like I do now.
The blood would be sticky,
And it would hurt when my mommy
Would pull the jeans from the scab
Where they had crusted together.
Opening an old wound still hurts.

3/15/00