I once knew a girl who
had the imprint of a hand
burned into her shoulder.
It was her brother's hand.
When the fire started, he
pushed her ahead of him
through the crowd
through the fear
through the door—
He didn't make it out.
The hospital put grafts
on her blisters, but she
made them leave that
burn, that imprint of love,
behind.
Sometimes I need
these signs, because
on sunny days I forget
the horrors. I forget
that I need to love
every day, to hold
people close, to breathe
while I still can.
Because one day
I may need to push
someone else out
that door
ahead of me.