Poetry: Our Tranquil Scars by Aaron Wiegert

Our Tranquil Scars

On this cold morning

The warm water upon my hands.

Slowly, slowly, anything?

Patience is young and worth more

Than winter’s idle chatter. 

The day begins in peace.

I am my own biographer,

Translator: Make it natural.

The mound appears as a hill.

I warm my hands in the water,

The skin is coming off again.

Still the young are tunneling out,

Army of armies, teams of thieves

All limbs and no lungs, dirt 

Rising thousands of years

Broken glass from a house of mirrors,

This is where I live.

Washing the mud from my hands

The drain has stopped.

Aaron Wiegert poems have appeared in journals and anthologies around the U.S., Canada, Scotland, England, Austria, Australia, and Nigeria.