10/20/23

I sliced my finger open with the lid of a can of diced tomatoes. The crimson and scarlet swirled into a coagulant my brother was keen to pour over our chicken parmesan. And I, panicked by the wound, scampered to nowhere fast to hide my searing pain. All of this is true but it festers untreated, as I rely on myself alone. Then my brother knocks. And he finishes dinner. And I’ll never find the boundaries of his love. And the merits of vulnerability burn me up to a fresh, vital ash.