Battle Scars - unpublished poem

Hi, here's an unpublished poem, hope you enjoy! Any comments welcome.

Battle Scars

It’s only late that evening –
a shopping bag of bread, wine
and takeaway dinner in hand,

she realises that she isn’t sorry –
not sorry at all for the muddle of it,
the stupidness and the days

wasted in babble and breathing;
the shocks of those unsafe sockets,
damp hair, candle-singed,

all of it was sin of a sort, but
in that evening, silvery –
a cicatrice spelling her name.

Not sorry, she thinks, as cars
pass on, and a black cat scurries
home through the gap. Not sorry,

as the catechism unravels,
and her soul-spun smog
evaporates, leaving nothing --

but extraordinary stars.