A One Year Of Letters offering.
January 11, 2016
I can’t breathe. My life is reduced to anticipation of a beep on the monitors. Lines reflect bedraggled heartbeats. The numbers leap into dangerous zones, then recede like a storm-swept tide.
I watch a man, once a fount of strength, fade into bleach-thinned pillows. I can’t sleep. When I close my eyes, he lurches forward with accusation, his thin frame trembles, and the wounding words reverberate like a remembered thunderclap.
My voice shakes as I tell my kids. One tears up and, unable to comprehend, bursts into her hallmark nervous laughter. One blinks cold eyes and asks to go shopping. After all, what can be done? The littlest clings to the oldest gal and their lips tremble, a concert of concern. My skins burns, and angry hives mark my anguish. I push the wail boiling within me into a hidden, locked compartment to deal with later…
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