Matthew Lee
othellosclerosis
In the fragile predawn still ice on the bridge to the hospital is invisible until it cracks I slip & I flip. Faith hunches over her gnarled hands grip the edge of the exam table a kyphotic gargoyle praying before the ledge. Her heart has lost the beat the only tune she’s forgotten but her green eyes glisten white wisps & thin lips electric as she tells me her story: That morning her toothbrush fell into the sink spraying a ribbon of white foam across her reflection drooling ancient curses mint made bitter.
Ten minutes scrambling for the towel the phone the words before she began to awaken blinking away, waving away the navy yellow haze. She thought she saw—no she saw—her husband in his floppy fishing hat coming through the garage late as always. Does the moon yawn? Or is it already asleep dreaming of melting into a puddle of glass?