a poem by Nat Mulkey* Sharp pain greets my shoulder My shoulder sighs, This again. Your hand has a flag, Of your country The IV at the center, poorly placed Covers it in blood. I wince, breathless Skin getting red and raw This one is bigger than the last Only halfway done. Near your ribs in calligraphy Names of your children Pulsating above your Nervous heart. Hours pass The outline is complete. Shading and color still to do Anticipation My hand trembles. A finger drags along your abdomen That is where they will cut And enter your body. Your hand reaches I needed this To stay, feel alive My voice … Continue reading →