Weird

My niece pointed at my stomach

and said "that's weird,"

and I had to agree.

The small dark indent,

the scar nobody talks about

because everyone has one,

because it's the proof

of being born,

the mark that means

I was once attached to someone,

that I had to be cut away.

I've never thought about it

until she asked.

I've walked around for decades

carrying this small strange thing,

this knot of skin

that serves no purpose,

this reminder of the thing

I can't remember,

the being inside

before I was out.

Now I can't stop seeing it.

It is weird.

It's the scar we don't acknowledge,

the scar everyone has,

the proof of separation

stitched into our bodies,

small and dark and permanent.

She asked me why,

and I realized I don't know.

I realized I've never asked.

Now I know where I came from.

Now I know what it cost.

Now I can't unsee it.