Ouch

You're a good friend to me.
You're a little word.
A four-letter-word.
Possibly one of my first words.
I like you.
You help me.
When small things touch
my gaping wound.
When a two-year-old girl
and her pregnant mama
befriend me at the swimming pool.
Ouch.
When I pick out bananas
from the grocery store
and there's room for them in the seat
of the shopping cart.
Ouch.
When I see mom and daughter
walking hand in hand.
When I stand behind church people
lifting their hands.
When the kitchen door taunts me
with the dusty outline of your little hand.
Ouch.
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
Exhale.
Let it out.