The cycle continues.
The cycle continues. Anthy Strom eyes crossed with silver coins palms arched, fingers twirling drilling purple holes into the bones of my thigh joints popping in prayers that are not heard how do I tell my grandmother that no one listens? my grandfather cries at my graduation we spend two days hauling dirt to cover fresh graves and my father chases dogs and chases insanity and catches one of them we visit him at Thanksgiving he is pale, we play cards and all his veins have holes and he says he is getting better I hope he is getting help but there is a hollow rancid sludge that bleeds through his words and my mother can't look him in the eye and I know this is but one more skin to be shed, one more apology to be put on the pile and that he will be back home before Christmas
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