My Scar, the Proof

I tried to close the opening
the bed rail made
but between the blood
in my eyes
and spots on the floor
the dishtowel could hold
no more
and I remember the gasp
my mother released
all the way to heaven
as her hand pressed
until the doctor
could prove
his stitching skills
and mother could
not thank him enough
for his knowledge
of quilting
and her hatred
for him
and his feminine ways
would bloody
her eyes
no more.