Posted in family, Home, Poetry, violence


we throw the basketball back and forth
rubber skin poised at our fingertips
practice practice practice
she shoots I shoot
she taunts me I see red
on her chest bright and thick
hands clutching her shirt
like in the movies
I hate her I hate her
then I’m sorry
she stays mad for a week or so
we laugh it off now
but the abnormal tissue is still
knitted into her chest
a sigil forced
and I am ashamed

Photo: Blood by Mate Marschalko [Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic]

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