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broken (3)
by Angela Thomasmy brother is fifteen now and he weighs
a startling 70 pounds. he looks more like
a rolling skeleton than a raging teenager.
and, every morning, in a floridian winter,
i carry him from bed, in the fetal position
he wakes frozen in, and place him gently in a scalding
bath. compared to mine, his skin looks like cheesecloth
stretched tightly over highways of blue-green veins
and frozen joints. like ice dissolving into a cup of tea,
i have to add more hot water every ten minutes to keep
steam. he does not even have enough strength in his arms
to turn a faucet. so, i sit on the toilet reading, while
the invisible glacier in his bones melts for an hour. i wait,
separated by a dark blue shower curtain which hides his
developing body from sight. once he can move again,
i throw a small hand towel into the tub. and, soaking
myself in the process, i pull him from the bath,
traverse the hall, and plunk him like a rock into
a river on his bed. he always screams. screams
that i'm doing it wrong. that i'm hurting him.
that he's breaking again. that this is all my fault.
and, for over a decade, this is how i woke up. i remember
once he even tried to get out of the tub on his own.
no one heard the fall. brittle bones snapping in sequence,
like a loud zipper coming undone. even the nurses
in the hospital ER were afraid to touch him. they whispered
to each other words of comfort, words of contempt,
using language like corpse, poor, break, and bless. 04/08/2009 Posted on 04/08/2009
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 04/08/09 at 11:31 PM This is an unbelievable write Angela. I can't express how I feel right now. Most of us have no idea what some others go through in life! |
| Posted by David Hill on 04/09/09 at 12:32 AM Powerful and clearly told. |
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