He takes my right hand gently,
touches each fingertip. I look at the door.
I wouldn't have come.
It's never hurt this much before.
Every day? he asks, turns my palm
to the white ceiling. Cross pens clink
in his breast pocket.
No, I finally manage. Some days
I don't feel anything. Some nights
numbness is what wakes me up.
Everything is just so slippery.
Nothing will let me hold it for long.
photograph by Lara Korlara
