|
A & E |
The blood seeps out
like an oily hair product
as she pokes
a finger into your head to ensure
the skull has not been fractured.
Stitching your black wet hair
in with the wound
she seems to enjoy this blend
of needlework and mending:
might even take a pinch
of malicious pleasure
in your pain, which at its source
is drink related.
I watch you whiten, wince,
lick your tears in silence.
I sit close but distant, tuck
my arms in tight around my coat
hugging you by proxy.
copyright 2009
Kathleen
Kenny |
