stranger

You noticed the scar I’ve worn on my left hand
since I was a little girl
for the first time today, could not believe
that you had never seen it
given the number of times and all the ways
my hands touched your body
and given the number of hours,
that could add up to weeks or months,
your eyes raked mine, and I noticed
for the first time
a scar on your arm; I pointed to it, 
eyebrows furrowed, and you explained
it was a reminder from the night
you crashed my car
two years prior. And we laughed 
together about everything we did not notice,

and I cried alone
realizing today was the first time
we couldn’t look each other in the eyes.