Meeting Mary at the supermarket

Her adolescent hands take up my groceries.
In careful English she says It is warm today

and I see the scar that straddles her char-black forehead.

Its length is chilling: there is no refusing
the machete's image, the thunk and force of the blow.

Yes, I say, and lift my bags to leave:
my heart cleft open, filling with this day's warmth.