splatters my collarbone
arms, cheeks. Blooming like freckles,
his anger rests
heavy. A body clothed, plunged into water
down coat boots and jeans and
sinking hate that he rests
where it is safe, where it can be picked
up again when he needs it,
leaving only the imprint of the burn.
It’s just a Learning Disability, but Listen hides behind the words
like a have-a-heart-trap
cloaked in his old blue blanket,
chicken nugget resting inside.
I don’t want your help. I’m not the classic case you think I am.
Suns, still shiny as Jawbreakers, lumber
East to West, forecasting alteration as if
the star were a crystal ball and not
some ancient scorching truth
stamping marks as it goes.
I wait for his view to change.
The way day changes our seat on the train
or the way we like
Brussels Sprouts now.
Sabrina Fedel holds her MFA in creative writing from Lesley Univesity and writes from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where she lives with her three children, four cats, one dog, and one husband, generally in that order. You may learn more about her at her website, Destination Providence, at www.sabrinafedel.com.