Summer, 2016

Summer, 2016

Parkinson’s a bitch, my father said

Shaking off the awkwardness of having his son

Hold him in bed to hold off the shaking

Till his drugs could settle in:

Carbidopa to tell his brain to shut his muscles off,

Lorazepam to stuff his fear into a corner of sleep,

Which came, in time, as I lay cradling him,

His frame still much larger than mine

Despite his shrunken weight, despite having to be carried

In and out of chairs, despite the piss accidents,

The humiliations disease brings in its baggage,

Unpacking surprises like toys from a business trip,

So when sleep did set in, his trembling hand in mine,

I felt surprisingly small in his arms.  




More Remarkable Finds


The beast bent on my destruction grows hairs from its pores, shaggy, malkempt. Sharp blades cut them but they cut back.
His Sculpture

His Sculpture

O to just wash it clean, white as the shelf it sits on, that thing he’d put up on a pedestal—a misshapen bicycle seat, swollen coffee bean.
River Salt

River Salt

The river running through my mouth bypassed my heart, the tongue dried up.


Track your submissions at Duotrope