One day, you’re 16 and cut
your thumb while shaving
your patchy beard, dropping your mothers
pink, now red disposable BIC,
bleeding all over the sink and praying
no one walks into the cigarette-stained bathroom.
Your wife is pregnant with your first
child. You don’t have time
to stop the bleeding. You wonder
if you’ll be a good father. Not like
your own, or his. You wonder
how fast it came, how quickly the years
grazed your skin. How every day
from now on
will be lonelier.
You look in the mirror and you notice
how mangled your body has become.
Years later, there is blood
still pooling over the drain.
Artwork courtesy of our featured artist Ernest Williamson III, PhD
