Thursday, October 9, 2014


(Part I)

 Throughout the day
it blindsides you
You flinch with your stomach

You learn which vertebrae C1 and T7 are
and what an embolism is
and why he needs four different million-dollar machines
What you don’t learn
are the implications
(And all this
while she sits rocking on her bed
saying Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s in Spanish
counting the little smooth balls of her plastic rosary
while her Papa is perhaps held together with tape
in a dusty one-room clinica
with four dirt parking spaces
or more likely, dead)

You think about how much you collided
with his stubbornness
And now it saves him
and you

You complained because he walked so damn fast
Your legs trotted to keep up
And now you would give your left leg
if he could take one miniscule step

Broken, broken
Breaking you into pieces
Disconnected, disturbed,
insulted, damaged
Swollen bleeding ripping and crackling
Screaming clawing, resting, dying
Hanging on, fighting, waiting

Holding together
Falling apart
Out on a limb
Out of limbs
Fucked-up nonsense
You flinch with your stomach
and dream that a split second in time
could be picked off like a scab
and made new again

(Part II)

The scars left were ambiguous
because they were so deep
Deep in the middles of bones
In the under under layer of tissue
And in other places
Things even had to be unscrewed
We wanted to be uninterrupted
We liked our former notions
of give and take
Once upon a time
the sadness took more
than we could give
and gave more than
we could take
But the bandages were finally torn off
White flags after the surrender

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