Julianna May

I look at the shiny silver metal between my fingers
A small, timid voice rings in my head:
“Mommy, what are those scars from?”
A daughter that has not been born yet asks.
I shutter when her tiny cold fingers touch my skin.
“I was battling, my dear.”
“Who were you battling, Mommy?”
“Myself. And don’t worry hunny. I won.”
She smiles up at me.
“If you ever feel like you’re in a battle I will always be here for you.”
I shake my head and put down the blade.
The thought of a future has saved me; for today.