poetry

the specific sadness of my father’s legs laid bare

the specific sadness of my father’s legs laid bare

my father’s legs
bent together knees left
wasted bony
too long to lie straight
in the hospital bed
shins covered with claret bruises
his feet in blue protective booties
heels hidden by white dressings
his skin too thin
to take all the lying around

after visiting hours
my sister and I
apply pressure to
our own open wounds
with a bottle of red

poetry

axe

axe

he loves so deep
any no hurts
so he says yes
yes yes yes yes
take everything

one day
he may see
too many yeses
harm the beloved
like that damned
Giving Tree
that always left me
feeling hollowed out
shivering
at just how heartless
one-sided love could be