Day 88

by 109daysthehand



Left hand moves.


Church.  Sort of.  Steeple.  Sort of.


Key board?




Her hands move the keyboard gently under my weakened hands.


Me:  Hello.


Her:  Hello.


Me:  Day?


Her:  88


Me:   Wonder?  How am I?  Really?


Her:  Not great.  Things are shutting down?


Me: What’s left.


Her:   Tubes and skin.  The great reconstruction isn’t going well.


Me:  Hands hurt.


Her:  Wait a day.


Me:  Tomorrow, shoot me up with all you got.


Her:  All we got is what got you here.


Me:   Christ.