What Came to Mind When the Teacher Told Us to Write about Being American After Haiti, After Struggles for Democracy in the Middle East, After Japan and in the Midst of an Economic Downturn.

She’s got a small scar,
a little puff and indent
from the scrape. She made
it herself, in the living
room, dove into the corner
of a CD bin. Her little dent

she made with music won’t
crease like the pock scar
between my brows.
When she reaches

the boundaries of danger,
we pull her safe, save
for her forehead mark.

What she got with scream
and dive, blood and pain,
ice and outrage.
She entered
alone and returned
with her first wet reminder of freedom.