The surgeon made a six-inch cut
from my navel downward, removed an organ
peppered with cancer. Before the surgery,

I took a picture of my abdomen—
this is what it looked like when I had
all my parts. Over weeks and months,
I found myself fingering the healing
incision, a tingling reminder of the gash
where hands entered.

I have wondered when the scar
and its sensation would go away.
It was red and stitched,
visibly and invisibly. Later
it felt like braided cord. Then
upper portions flattened, smoothed
out, while lower parts remain
raised and hard.

A year passed. I think it will not
change much more. Now I realize
I don't want it to disappear.
I want to touch my scar,
be reminded of what's gone,
have feelings wash over me.