Skip to main content

Red Tee Shirt

ISSUE:  Winter 1993
After three hours
my sister’s arm cramped
and I took over applying pressure
to my open incision.
Four johnnies later,
still on my side and hemorrhaging
in the emergency room, I thought of that
single sparkler spitting blood,
an artery nicked by a knife
in the closing procedure,
unknown, announcing itself
in the dark of my chest.
My mother stood by the stainless
steel sink washing, wringing
and rinsing the shirt I’d worn
until it was white again.


This question is for testing whether or not you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.

Recommended Reading