Short Stories and Poems

4th Rehab

Ribcage pulled apart with clamps

dead vines weave through my bones

much fall aftermath

given way to concrete earth

Sadness and fatigue anesthetize my body like an epidural

leaving muscles that should not ever be used,

soft and bruised

like rotting fruit.

I feel old.

No soft night sounds or cool sheets of morning light.

If I had the will

I would throw myself into his war against himself

coldly impervious and concise.

But I can’t save him forever

He is 22.

No light in his life-

has a death wish

I cannot amend.

What is sadder:

Abraham sacrificing his son or

his son sacrificing himself?



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