I try not hear the conversation in the next room.
I am fitted with my daughters pink Fischer Price earphones. My i-pod repeating itself. My brothers are saints. Their socks loaded with urine. "So that's why you wore shoes?" My brother said, when he stepped in a puddle. I shrugged. I am the last person standing for this job. I feel useless. My sex being the only thing that gets me at the other side of the door.
"dad said..."
"ma should..."
cancelled, redirected, unused trips. Coming back home too soon.
History repeating itself. Or staying still this year.
My brothers, I swear, are saints.
Only kids really.
I wear my adulthood like something I only just thought to put on.
I hear snippets of conversations.
Torn completely to shreds with my i-pod.
"what will the hospital do?"
And I don't answer.
For fear of being made to lead this conversation.
Love, its such a painful thing to grasp
and feel
slip away-
and out of your hands.
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