The Scratch


By Raymond Carver

It’s a day for contemplating our self-destructive habits, as humans. Here’s a thought from the best.


I woke up with a spot of blood

over my eye.

A scratch

halfway across my forehead.

But I’m sleeping alone these days.

Why on earth would a man raise his hand

against himself, even in sleep?

It’s this and similar questions

I’m trying to answer this morning.

As I study my face in the window.

One thought on “The Scratch

Tell me, tell me.