dean visits

we are sitting at grandma’s kitchen table and he is taking ice from the freezer to soothe the burn on my neck.

he tells me not to tell her what happened, or he would put hot sauce on my thumbs to punish me, a perfect manipulation tactic to use against a thumb sucker.

yes, grandpa.

when she asks later that day, i stare frozen in fear before answering.

butterfly.

her reaction told me i should have said nothing because grandpa put hot sauce on my thumbs anyway. my mouth burned, and everything i couldn’t say was swallowed.

linda bleeds

freeze.

a pool of blood is formed around her head as she lays motionless on the concrete floor. a basketball game is playing loudly on the telly in another part of the house. a horn blares in the distance, a request for someone to meet their ride. a dog scratches the outer door several feet from her body, whining to be let in, and my fingertips begin to go numb. i open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out so i close it and begin to hum the old rugged cross,

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
  The emblem of suff’ring and shame,
And I love that old cross where the Dearest and Best
  For a world of lost sinners was slain.

thinking she might be communing with god, i turned to go back in the house, where my voice returned, and i screamed and screamed until the man got up to help.

living and dying, clinging and letting go, it all looks the same to me.