My mother once burned my hand with an iron.

She warned me prior
that it was hot -
and gave me notice
of its impeding descent.

I met her gaze,
and stood my ground.
Eyes locked with hers
in unwarranted,
challenging fury.

The shark’s tooth imprint
on my unblemished skin
lasted for days - weeks even,
but the lesson and the memory
were permanent dents.

Every time I think
of what it is to warn,
I remember that moment.
Of what it did to me.