You see the crack in the cup,

the jagged scar like lightning piercing stormy sky.

Fingers trace the lines etched from collision

of counter and ceramic and stone.

But it holds still, my coffee steaming,

and I remember how beautiful are scars that tell a story

for I like the way you tell it, the untwisting of

truth until it straightens out

and it is all I ever see.

—jennifer j. camp